Thom of Trebond
by Junipertree
Summary: Thom's change from a cute dreamer to a twisted failure who regrets everything. The Black God looms in his face, but he still won't give in. Pride is everything. (FINISHED)
1. Prologue

Hey, I'm doing a million fics at once

Thom rocks!!

Disclaimer: I dun own Tammy's stuff. Dun sue me.

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Thom of Trebond

Prologue

Thom of Trebond stared at himself in the mirror. Gods, he looked awful. But he could never ask for help- he was too proud. Alanna was worried, oh, hell, she had the right to be. But she didn't know the truth- that if somebody didn't do something, and soon, Thom would die.

__

I'm stupid! He thought, _Stupid stupid stupid! I never should have listened to Delia, the slut. Oh, yes, I'm such a great mage now, right on the Black God's doorstep. Pah. I raised Roger from the dead and I look as if I've just crawled out of the grave. How fitting._

He balled up a spark of magic in his palm- at least he had meant to. Instead of what he'd wanted, the room flared up with intense light.

__

No control! Corrupted, all corrupted! Instead of his usual purple flame, the magic in his hands was red-brown- the color of dried blood. _Fuck him fuck him fuck him! _Whipping around, Thom raised his arm and threw the ball of magic the couch behind him- it exploded, leaving behind only ashes of velvet and half-melted springs.

Collapsing on his knees, Thom put his head in his hands. _I'm cursed. The gods have turned their backs. Shit, I've been cursed since the day I was born. Even when I became a mage, I wasn't happy. No, I had to have all the gods-be-damned power in the world, I had to be better than them all- and damn if I needed any help doing it! Better than Si-Cham or all those bastards up at the City of the Gods. They hated me- they hated me for being good. They thought I was that good naturally- that it all fell into my lap. They thought I was stuck up. I know what they thought._

Gods, if only I couldn't remember…


	2. Switch Places

Chapter 1: Switch Places

I can't quite remember all the colors of mage robes- though brown is like the beginner beginner, right? Anyway, that's once they got to the City of the Gods. Anyone who can remember all the robe colors, please tell me, thanx!

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Chapter 1: Switch Places

"…I go to the palace, you go to the convent, and later, to the City of the Gods. Simple."

That's what Alanna said, anyway. Simple? If they even pulled it off, they'd probably be caught in a few weeks, and in more trouble than when they had started.

"Well…" Thom pondered. "I don't know…"

"You want to be a mage, don't you?" asked Alanna.

"Well yes, but-"

"But what. Come on, Thom. Don't be a wuss."

"I'm not a wuss!" Thom protested.

"Then do it."

Thom really thought for a moment. If they _did_ pull it off… it would be great. He just hated fighting- or, as Thom called it, "falling down and whacking things". But to be a mage…

"I'll do it."

~*~

Thom fidgeted on his pony's back. He'd never been a good rider, even a passable rider, and Lolly was the only mount in Trebond that wouldn't throw him at one time or another.

Alanna sat comfortably on her pony, and held out her hand in parting. "See you, twin. Watch your back."

Thom snorted. "Watch _your_ back. There are a lot of tests ahead of you." He wouldn't admit it, but he was worried about her. He'd heard _bad_ stories about being a page.

"I'll pass the tests." Alanna said firmly.

And they left. Thom had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing her for a long, long time.

~*~

The journey north was uneventful. Thom spent most of his time enduring hours in the saddle and rubbing his poor, saddle-sore behind. Riding definitely was _not_ his favorite pastime. Maude was silent, and Thom didn't really care. She was just an old village healing-woman- what did she know? The only reason he paid any attention to her at all was in case she had something more to teach him- and now it didn't even matter, because he was going to learn more than Maude ever knew.

~*~

"…And this will be your room." The priestess waved her hand into a small room with a small bed to one side. It was neither fancy nor austere, neither bright nor depressing. Thom shrugged and dropped his bag in the middle of the floor. He hadn't packed much- just some clothing and a few personal belongings, and it all fit easily into one small pack.

"You can go to the eating hall, we're having dinner at the moment." The woman phrased it as an optional, but the way she spoke it sounded like an order. Well, Thom was starving anyway. They walked down two stories on an elegant spiral staircase, and went through different hallways and doors until Thom was positively lost. How was he ever going to find his way around this miserable rat warren? (***A/N: Guess where else was called a miserable rat warren? Heh heh***). Then the priestess opened the single door to the eating hall, and Thom was overwhelmed. There were _hundreds_ of girls- simply hundreds! The place was like a- a beehive- a beehive full of pink bees! All the girls were dressed up in pink uniform dresses ::shudder:: and had bows in their hair. There were two tables dressed in different colors- one with girls in pale blue and the other with boys in pale blue- there were a few more boys than girls. 

"You'll go sit with the boys in blue," she said. "You'll get your uniform robes tonight, once Gertrude gets your measurements." The priestess hustled Thom over to the boys' table, and rapped her knuckles on the top as a signal for silence. All the boys looked up.

"This is Thom, the newest student. Please be kind to him and be sure to help him along in the first few days." She said it in a perfunctory sort of manner- as if she really didn't care if they helped him or not, then left.

A boy to Thom's right squished over, and patted a seat beside him. "Sit down," he said. "And don't let Mistress Yeilin intimidate you- she does that to all newbies."

"Don't act so wise, Perryn!" someone yelled from the other end of the table. "You just got here last week!"

"And you got here the week before." Perryn retorted. "By the way, I'm Perryn, and that smart-ass over there is Ramor."

"Watch your language, Wasdale!" said the boy sitting opposite Thom. "Someone aughta wash that dirty mouth of yours out with soap!"

"And you're to clean!" Perryn replied. "I should wash _your_ mouth out with horse crap!"

"Don't mind him," said the boy who'd reprimanded Perryn. "He hangs out with his dad's mercenary buddies- and it shows, man, it shows. I'm Trenis."

By the end of the meal, Thom had been introduced to everybody at the table- but by far the nicest was Perryn. He had a feeling they'd be quick friends. Friends- he'd never really had anyone he could call a friend before this. Thom would never sink so low as to make friends with commoners, and he'd never really known any noble boys his age. The only person he'd ever really cared about was his sister.

Thom finished just when the bell rang, and got up to put his plate on the dirty rack when he was suddenly intercepted by one of the boys- Trenis. Trenis was probably thirteen or so, and was one of the tallest people Thom had ever seen. His dark hair and complexion only made him look even more sinister.

"Hey, Trebond," he said. "Want some advice?"

Cautiously, Thom nodded, and Trenis continued. "Don't hang around Wasdale. He'll just get you into trouble- and we wouldn't want that, would we?" Trenis put Thom under the full force of his gaze, and Thom shivered at his icy cold stare.

"Yes, sir."

Trenis smiled. "Then I'm sure you'll have a fine time here." And he spun on his heel, walking off. Thom decided he didn't like the older boy, and resolved to try and avoid his "advice" as much as possible.

A light hand tapped him on his shoulder, and Thom jumped, whipping around.

"Whoa, don't get so edgy," Perryn joked. Thom relaxed. "I just wanted to show you around- you'll get lost in five minutes if you don't know your way around."

"Sure." 

So Perryn took Thom on a little tour of the convent. "It's really quite simple," he explained. "Each wing is clearly separated, and all the rooms are organized by number- if you're on the third floor, the number starts with three, second, two, and so on. The mage's wing is in the west wing- the students' rooms are on the third floor, teachers' on the fourth, upper-level magic classrooms on the first, and the second is regular classrooms- we share those with the 'ladies'. Generally the girl-mages are in different classes than us, but sometimes we get thrown together. Dining hall and eating hall- there's a difference- are both in the main building, as well as general classes and the main temple."

By the time Perryn was finished, Thom had a pretty good idea of how to get around. It was all simple- once you knew how it worked. Thom had the rest of the day off, (which was nearly over anyways) so he decided to unpack his belongings and maybe read a book or two before bed. It had been a long day, and he really was tired.

But before he could sleep he had to go down to the sewing room to get some new robes. After a few tries, Thom actually found the place and was stripped down and measured for some new clothes. The mistress there- Gertrude- gave him a whole pile of light blue robes in practically the smallest size available, plus a blue waterproof cloak for the worst weather.

Thom went back to his rooms and barely had time to put his stuff away before plopping onto his bed and falling asleep instantly. 

~*~

Thom woke up at the sound of a bell so loud he was surprised it didn't pop his eardrums. When it had finished clanging, he rubbed his ringing ears and wondered if he would go deaf in the next few weeks or not. 

He dragged on some clothes and splashed some cold water on his face, finally waking up. He'd never been a morning person. Thom opened the door to the hallway and peeked his nose outside- he had no idea where he was supposed to be going.

"Hey, Thom!" cried a voice from the other end of the hallway. Perryn came panting down the hall, waving both arms wildly.

"Thom, just follow me," he said. "I'll take you to Laws of Magic- that's the bare basic, mind you. Come on."

Thom just blinked and muttered, "What time is it?"

"Eight. The bell rang at twenty after."

"Eight?!" Thom never got out of bed before nine unless he had to- which resulted in him often missing breakfast.

Perryn chuckled. "Hey, consider yourself lucky. If your dad had kicked ya down to the palace instead of here, you'd be getting up at five and before."

Suddenly Thom thought of Alanna- did she know what she was getting into? Could she take it? "My brother Alan is down at the palace," Thom said. "I can't believe he _likes_ that stuff- falling down and whacking things."

"Really? How old is he?" Perryn asked.

"We're twins."

"Identical?"

Thom thought for a moment. Well, Perryn would never know "Alan" was a girl, and they certainly looked enough alike. "Yeah." Thom sighed. "I miss him."

Perryn shook his head. "I can't understand how you can miss a sibling- I couldn't wait to get away from my sisters! ::shudder:: They've got it in for me- dressing me up in girls clothes, giving me makeovers- I thought I could escape them by becoming a knight. But instead, my dumb-ass father had to send me up to be a mage- and now I see them every gods-be-damned day!"

Thom, surprised, looked up. "You were gonna be a knight?"

Perryn's face turned hard. "Yeah. But that- that _beast_ who calls himself my father sent me up here." Perryn pitched his voice high and mocking. "You have to train your Gift, son, not go around risking your life and killing people. It's not gentlemanly." 

Thom had a sudden urge to tell Perryn about him and Alanna switching- but he squelched the thought almost before it formed. What good would that do?

~*~

Thom did quite well in his mage-training, and made quick friends with Perryn- but he soon learned that making friends with the most unpopular boy in school had a harsh price. Almost every day, the contents of the boys' collective chamberpots were balanced above his door, spilling all over him when he tried to leave the room. The other boys didn't dare do anything to his rooms or his belongings- they'd get in so much trouble they'd be sent home before you could say 'widdershins'- but that didn't stop them from being nasty to Thom during class- tripping him whenever possible, 'accidentally' spilling ink on his homework, and excluding him completely from their little 'group'. 

"Why do they hate you so much?" Thom once asked.

Perryn laughed bitterly. "Because my family's poor. We don't even have a 'proper' keep, we live in a brick house. The finest house in our village, sure-" he laughed again. "We're only related to the King by the thinnest line- his great-great grandmother's nephew's fifth cousin, thrice removed, I do believe. And it only makes it worse that I'm so much better than them at magic."

And that was true. Perryn was far, far ahead in his studies, and was already studying second year magic halfway through his first year. He tutored Thom, too, though Thom wasn't nearly that advanced, he was ahead of most of the class as well.

So Thom endured it all with thoughts of "what would Alanna say if she thought you were being a wuss" and "you wanted to be a mage, didn't you?" He'd show them all. He'd beat them all, and he'd become greater than any of them could ever be.

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Howz that? I do intend to make every chapter this long- I've been really skimpy with my chapter lengths. Yeah, a page and a half, what a chapter… review!


	3. Disgust and Delight

Disclaimer, yada yada, etc, etc…

Disclaimer, yada yada, etc, etc… Oh, and a few more questions… was it in Al: 1st Adven or in ITHOTG where Thom sends a letter to Al about getting away from giggling girls at the convent? How old was he then? If nobody knows, I'll make it up.

This fic gets kinda angsty near the end… it's gonna get worse, believe me.

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Thom of Trebond

Chapter 2: Disgust and Delight

Thom walked past the group of huddled boys, and they gave him 'looks' as he did so. They hated him, he hated them. They were even. He sat down by Perryn, making rude gestures at the other group of boys and snickering when they fingered him back. Bastards. 

Thom had long since earned the enmity of the other mage-students, and made peace with the Wasdale family's relative poverty- relative, that is, to the rolling-in-dough Ramor, Arthur, Selth, and their ring-leader Trenis. Perryn was a respectable noble- not like _some_ people Thom could name. 

It was his second year at the convent, and Thom had progressed madly through his studies, which only fired Trenis' hatred even more.

"Psst." Perryn grabbed Thom's wrist. "Are you gonna stand for that, or what?"

Thom's eyes narrowed. "Whaddaya mean?"

"We always get pushed around by them. Shouldn't we… do… something about it?"

"What like pull the same pranks back on them? That's just immature." Thom turned back to the front.

"No, you dope." Perryn looked around the room to see if anyone was listening. "I mean… something _really _bad. Call it… revenge, if you like."

Thom was torn between disgust and delight. Delight won over. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'll tell you tonight."

~*~

It was after dinner, and Thom was waiting for Perryn to come in with his plan. It had better be good- Thom wasn't going to settle for tiny pranks. Rest mist clouded his vision as he remembered everything Trenis and his group had done… the insults, the cruel pranks, but nothing they could get caught for. More than anything, Thom wanted revenge- sweet, sweet revenge.

A knock came on the door, and Thom opened it, quickly shutting it behind his friend. Perryn had a mad glint in his eye- a glint that was very, very catching.

"Here's what we do…" Perryn laid out his plan. It was devious, horrible, and altogether brilliant. All Trenis's pranks had been fairly harmless- just embarrassing, maddening, and disgusting- if that was harmless. None of Trenis's plans had been physically harmful beyond a few scratches and bruises. 

The Prank (as they had taken to calling it) was done in stages. The very first stage they could get expelled for. The last stage, they would be excluded from all schools of magic except the very darkest ones- if the teachers found out. But the chances were that the teachers would never find out, as Thom and Perryn were going to study crime and tracing magic for the next month before putting their plan into action.

So they did.

During all their free time, Thom and Perryn pored through books on Tracing- the art of discovering where magic had been, as well as connecting bits of things to the whole body. None of the teachers knew what they were studying, because they cleverly disguised their forbidden reading material behind the bindings of the study books they were supposed to be reading. Then there was another week and a half for planning- and for avoiding the teacher's connections from Thom and Perryn's studying to The Prank.

The first stage was fairly simple. Steal all of Trenis's and all his friends' homework, and burn it. This they did night after night, in the utmost stealth. They wore mage-constructed clothing each time, to stop them from leaving traces, and destroy it afterwards. Then they cleaned the area of their magic, soaking it into the ground where it melded with the magic of the earth.

~*~

"I told you, it's Trebond and Wasdale, dammit, Trebond and Wasdale!" Trenis stood in front of one of the mistresses, practically shaking with fury.

The mistress sighed. "Since we have no proof that Thom and Perryn did such a thing- nor that _anyone_ has stolen it, for that matter- there is nothing we can do. Personally, I think you are just trying to avoid your homework."

Thom and Perryn smiled as they eavesdropped on their arch-nemesis' conversation. Their plan was going very smoothly indeed.

~*~

The next phase of their plan was more difficult. Thom and Perryn stole all the 'gang's' clothes, tied them up in knots, and then soaked them with water- which only bound the knots even tighter. Then they slashed the curtains and wrote rude words all over the walls, muffled by silence spells- invisibility spells were too advanced. They made sure to use tag to disguise their writing and wrote using long sticks with ink pens on the end to avoid tracing spells. They also used ink from their enemies' own supplies- Perryn and Thom were taking no chances.

The stage after that was even worse. The two boys, during their stay at the convent had found out what things meant to the most to each of their enemies. It might be a painting of a dead parent or relative, or maybe a cherished childhood toy.

Thom and Perryn destroyed them all.

After that, the other boys were on guard. They put protective spells on their rooms, and though the two could have broken them, it was really too much trouble. What they _did_ do was ice the stairs, day after day. And as soon as the ice was touched, magically or physically, it would disappear- leaving no traces. Trenis's group had taken to sliding down the stairs on their bums- it was the only safe way to go down, after Ramor broke his arm in two places and Selth got a concussion.

The teachers, by now, were furious. They couldn't find out who the culprits were- Thom and Perryn had hidden their tracks too well- but they and the mistresses put the strongest protections possible on everything, so at least for now, the two had to give up.

Finally, a month later, the protections were let down, and they struck for a final time. They'd studied for ages on this one- and this spell was very, very illegal- anyone caught casting it except in extreme moments of self-defense would be denied status as a mage and was completely shunned by any whom had the Gift- at least a third of the population. 

This spell was called the Fires of Fear. It was way above their levels, and they were risking a lot one stroke, but they thought they could do it. This spell was more than illusory flames- they didn't burn, but they caused unimaginable pain. Pain so bad you would give anything to die right there and then- but unlike real pain, you could never pass out.

And there was more- at the height of your pain, you would see the things you feared most in all the world- and you'd keep seeing them until someone could put the flames out. The Fires of Fear could not be put out by water, only a strong mage. Thom and Perryn wouldn't be able to put out such flames for a few more years- and that was the risk. There flames spread quickly, and if the teachers didn't get there in time, Thom and Perryn could both fall into the flames- but it was a risk they were willing to take.

So both of then stood outside the third-floor window, ready to cast the spell in unison.

"You ready?" Perryn asked. He looked nervous, and his hands were shaking. 

Drops of sweat fell from Thom's forehead and sweat-soaked hair as he nodded. They were as ready as they would ever be.

"Okay. Here goes- one, two, th-" they both cast the spell at the same time, sending flames towards each dormitory in turn, draining their magic until they had nothing left. Bright red, blue, and deep violet sprung from the windows of the rooms, splashing light across their faces in a ghostly manner- Thom's eyes looked sunken, his face suddenly sinister. Soon the two boys could hear terrified screams coming from each room.

They were both completely drained- but they had planned for this. Magic could be stored in inanimate objects- it was difficult, but different types of crystals could hold raw magic for long periods of time, particularly quartz. For the past month, they had stored up all the magic they could, and now they drew on that magic to revitalize them as well as to stop the teachers from connecting the Flames of Fear to Thom and Perryn's drained state.

They were still very, very tired, but they hobbled back to their rooms, climbing in Thom's window. Perryn dashed through the hallway and into his room just in time as the mistress of elementary magic dashed along the hallway towards the screams.

By the time the literature teacher burst into Thom's room, Thom was convincingly asleep.

"Great good gods, Thom you slept through that? Get up get up get up!" the teacher was starting to panic.

Fortunately, Thom had a reputation as a very heavy sleeper. 

He rubbed his eyes as if the light had momentarily blinded him, then bumbled on down the hallway. Some boys were running screaming from their rooms, some just stood there, paralyzed by shock, fear and pain. Some were lying on the ground, collapsed, and others were talking and screaming into space. 

Suddenly Thom was hit by the seriousness of what he had done- and was disgusted. How could he have done that, done_ that_ to people for just a little grudge? Those boys were going- _mad_ in there, and Thom was the one who had caused it.

But at the same time, he felt that bittersweet sharpness of revenge, the thought that he had gotten back for all those things… he staved off guilt by a single thought: they deserved it. No, it wasn't Thom's fault; they were the ones who had pissed _him_ off. They should've known better than to mess with Thom of Trebond.

One by one, the boys were dragged out of the flames, which were slowly receding, held back by the senior practical works teacher. There was Arthur, Selth, Ramor, Kaleb, Dellan, Patrick- Thom furrowed his brow. Where was Trenis? He couldn't see the guy anywhere.

Then they dragged out Trenis. Blood was pouring from his nose, from his mouth. He was limp, his head lolled to one side, his face pale as… The teacher dragging him out had a grim look on his face.

"Oh gods-" He didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to know. It was coming-

"He's dead." The teacher dropped Trenis on the floor.

Trenis had a look of sheer terror on his face- like he was meeting the Black God for tea, and knew it.

Thom's face was a mask of horror. He just stood there, looking at the body. The person _he_ had killed. Trenis had died in terror and pain because of him- his features would be forever branded in Thom's memory. Thom hadn't meant to kill anyone- he just wanted to give them a good scare. Shake them up. But now…

"Oh, Mithros."

~*~

The entire convent had been thrown into shock by the tragedy in their midst. No one had any idea who the killer was- that's what this person was called now, the killer- Thom and Perryn had to bear that burden alone. They hadn't been speaking to each other, and perhaps that was just as well. 

The funeral services were held at dusk the next day, which dawned rainy and gray, only making Thom feel worse. As he sat there in the rain huddled under his cloak, he mulled over the events of the previous night, again and again and again. He was weighed down by an anvil's load of guilt and the constant fear that he would be found out. If he were found out, he'd be kicked out of every magic school in the country and probably some outside of the country as well, presented as a murderer in front of the entire convent, and then sent home in disgrace.

And when Thom looked at Trenis's pale, dead face, still frozen in an expression of the purest terror- only fear kept him rotted to the spot, kept him from running away screaming at the top of his lungs and going away to hide in the woods for a year or two.

He was very, very glad when the service was over.

~*~

After that, Thom spent nearly all his time in the temple. He'd never been much of a churchie- he was probably the least pious person in the whole of Trebond. But what had happened- what he had done- it scared him. Sometimes he just knelt there, in front of the altar, wondering whether lightning would strike him down where he sat.

But as things slowly got back to normal, Thom frequented the temple less often- but he went there at least twice as often as he had gone in the days before 'The Prank'.

Slowly Thom and Perryn built up their friendship again, but they never spoke of The Prank, nor thought of any other plans of revenge. They'd had their bitter taste of revenge, and hadn't liked what they'd seen at all. 

The years at the convent flew by- and suddenly he was fourteen, at his last year among giggling girls and stern mistresses. Only seven more months until the City of the Gods- only seven more months until his mage-training began in earnest. 

Only seven more months.

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Well, howd'ya like that? I'm gonna do one more chapter on Thom at the convent, then he's going to the City of the Gods. Review!


	4. Chiromancy Clears

Sorry for the wait… I've been working on my website and doing loads of math and socials homework… *gag*

Sorry for the wait… I've been working on my website and doing loads of math and socials homework… *gag* More angsty stuff this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tammy's stuff, and I don't claim to. You get the drift.

WARNING: LOTS of CURSING this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you!

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Thom of Trebond

Chapter 3: Chiromancy Clears

Thom walked to his next class; books tucked carefully under his arm in case someone tried to knock them out of his hands. He'd been lying low for the past few months – no more showing off his magical prowess, or taunting his classmates. That was fine – he could deal with a little humility.

The class he was going to was a fairly new one – they had just started Foretelling the month before. Foretelling was an imprecise art most predictions were pretty vague. It was basically because so many little things could change the future, very little is set in stone, and if you do see a precise future, it still might not happen. Thom wasn't really interested in this subject, who wanted to know what they were going to eat for breakfast tomorrow? But really, knowing what was going to happen, like some kind of fate, freaked him out. 

"Chiromancy." Said Mistress Polomere. "More commonly known as palmistry. Different wrinkles in your palm – called lines – and lumps – called mounds – represent not only your future, but also your personality. You right hand is the conscious, your left the unconscious."

Frankly, Thom didn't really care. Why would he need someone to tell him about his personality – conscious or unconscious?

"There are three main lines on you hand," she was drawing a diagram, now. "The top one is the heart line, and a deep and long line denotes a caring personality." Thom looked at his heart line – it was short and light. Figured.

"The one just below that is the head line – a deep head line means you are an intellectual or artistic person. The last line is your life line, and a strong, deep line means you will have a long and healthy life." She went on to describe the minor lines- Thom wasn't really listening, and he was rather jolted out of his daydreams when Mistress Polomere said she'd be reading their palms.

Thom was second-to-last in the lineup – Perryn was last. Perryn had almost refused to get his palms read, but the Mistress said either he was going to get his palm read or he was going to fail Foretelling.

"Thom," she said, and Thom walked up to her chair at the front and extended his hand. Polomere grabbed it and ran her fingers along his palm – it was spooky.

"Your heart line is weak, and your life line is strong but short," she said pensively. 

__

Oh, great. Thom thought. _So I'm heartless _and_ short-lived._

"However, your head line is one of the strongest I've ever seen- very long, too. Left."

Thom put out his left hand, and she looked at it a while before speaking. "You're a proud person, and solitary. You don't give help and you don't ask for it."

Thom suddenly felt uncomfortable. He didn't want Polomere to know any more than she had to.

"I see no spouse – though that may change in time. Many difficulties, difficulties which will affect not only yourself but other people – perhaps even all of Tortall." Thom shuddered, then checked himself. She was just some old bat spouting nonsense – what did she know?

"You may be great on day," she finished, and dropped his hands. Thom walked back to his table and picked up his books, walking out the door. All the other students had gone for free time, and there was only Perryn left. 

Thom was about to go back to his room when he suddenly decided to stay. It wouldn't hurt to hear what Polomere said about Perryn's future. He silently placed his books on the floor at his feet and peered around the corner into the room. The Mistress was holding Perryn's hands, running her fingers over his palms – he looked nervous.

"You are very impulsive," she said. "You tend to leap before you look – and often, that is a grave error." Thom wriggled uncomfortably, thinking about The Prank.

"Your friends are few and far between, though those that you have you would do anything for. Your head line is deep- very deep indeed." She frowned, then something clicked, and she pushed up his sleeves. "And your life line is very, very short." 

Perryn just snorted. "Bogus. What am I going to die from- your lectures?

"Fool!" she hissed. "Do you think what you're doing is accomplishing anything? You have potential, Perryn, don't waste it like this."

Perryn turned pale and yanked his hands away. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I damn well know what I'm talking about, boy. You're doing nothing but hurting yourself and others. By Shakith, if I hadn't sworn an oath never to tell the secrets of others –" she shook her head. "Tell someone, Perryn. Tell someone before it kills you."

"I can do what I want with my life, bitch." He spat, and turned on his heel, heading for the door. 

Thom realized what he was doing and grabbed his bags, running down the hall as quick and as quietly as he could go.

~*~

Perryn seemed withdrawn for the next few days, as if fighting some internal battle. Thom had no idea what it might be – but he just wished Perryn would trust him, whatever it was.

One evening after Thom and Perryn were studying, Thom noticed that his friend had left a book – A Collection of Spells for Intermediates. Wondering why Perryn had been so absent-minded lately, Thom went over to the other boy's door to return the book. He knocked, and when no answer came, pushed open the door a crack. The room was empty.

Frowning, Thom opened the door all the way and shut it behind him, looking around the spotless room. The door to the privy was ajar, and there was a light inside, so Thom assumed Perryn was in there. He strode to the door and knocked – no answer.

"Perryn?" he asked. Silence. Slowly – you never knew what people did in the privy – Thom opened the door – then just stood there, in shock.

Perryn was lying in a pool of his own blood, which was flowing freely from his slit wrists. Thom had enough sense to do a swift clotting spell and make some bandages from his mage-robes. Dazedly, he remembered that Perryn always wore long sleeves – even on the hottest summer days.

Perryn's eyelids quavered, and opened. "Fool," he said, and Thom's spell and bandages were ripped off Perryn's wrists, causing them to bleed again.

"You're the fool!" Thom hissed. "Why do you do this? Even when Mistress Polomere found out!" The words were past his lips before he could stop them.

Perryn's expression turned angry. "You were listening in? Bastard!"

"Well _excuse_ me for curiosity!" Thom snapped.

"It was none of your business!"

"It's none of my business when you try to kill yourself?"

Perryn laughed bitterly. "It wasn't that bad at first – just a little cut. But I couldn't stop. Deeper and deeper."

It was then Thom noticed the scars- some that must have been dating back to more than a year ago.

Perryn's pulse was getting slower, his breathing shallower, but he still wouldn't let Thom bandage his wrists.

"Why? Why do you do it?" Thom said, desperate. 

He laughed again. "You don't, can't understand. How can you live with it, day after day, everything they do?"

Thom sputtered. "What do you mean? They're just idiots!" but Thom knew that Perryn had a very low self-esteem – after years and years, he would start to believe all the things that they said. The things about him, his family, anything.

"Fuck you!" Thom croaked. He was starting to cry. "You know it isn't true!"

Perryn shook his head. "That's not all of it. You know I never wanted to be a mage."

Thom stared at him, wide-eyed. "You _what?_ How could you say that?" Thom _lived_ for magic.

"I wanted to be a knight. Serve the king. Magic is dirty, underhanded, and sneaky."

Thom's face was turning red with rage. "How can you say that? You're the best mage in the class!"

"It's bull." Perryn spat. "Bull. The only magic I was ever good at was magic to cheat with."

Thom just stared, jaw dropping open. "What- how-"

"I used to just cheat from other people's work. But then you came – If I copied from others' work and then switched my homework with yours, my marks would jump by at least thirty percent."

Thom turned a shade of deep purple. "YOU MOTHER-FUCKING BASTARD! YOU SAID YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

Perryn shrugged. "So I did."

"YOU USED ME!" Thom jumped up, balls of purple fire growing in his hands. Right now he just wanted to lash out – get him back for everything – then he realized what he wanted to do. Thom collapsed in a heap, crying. He couldn't do it, just couldn't.

"I hate you!" he cried, pounding his fists on Perryn's chest. "I hate you! Go to hell, you shithead!"

They found Thom in the same place an hour later, pounding his fists on Perryn's dead body.

_____________________________________________________________________

Ooh, creepy! Sorry it's a bit short, I'll make up for it next chapter. Review, pleez, I live on your reviews!


	5. City of the Gods

Ooh, thankyou everybody for all your reviews 

Ooh, thankyou everybody for all your reviews!! And no, Thom didn't kill Perryn – he would have died anyway, so it doesn't matter. I can't remember the damned robe colors, so I'm just gonna stumble through. I do realize the dream thing is very, very used. But hey, it works! Sorry if this chapter isn't very exciting, I'm in a horrible rut that I'm trying hopelessly to get out of. Lots of plot-filler, not much plot. What can I say?

Disclaimer: Can't you get it in your HEADS already?!? I don't own Tammy's stuff!! Why do I have to do I disclaimer for every damned chapter?!

Ah hah! Finally I can upload the next chapter! Gods this has been a pain in the ass…

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 4: City of the Gods

Thom shifted uncomfortably on his pony – a new one, and it was rather inclined to bite. Thom had a bit of a phobia of anything horselike, and avoided riding whenever possible, but he had to take the entire damned ride. It helped to remember where he was going, as something to look forward to.

The ride, like the one to the convent, was uneventful. Nobody really wanted to bother a group of mages riding north – trying would be suicidal.

~*~

That night Thom camped a little ways away from the others, setting his tent up magically. He really, really didn't want to be disturbed – Thom usually slept butt-naked, and a midnight visitor would be very embarrassing indeed.

He dreamed.

__

Thom stood on a bleak plain, nothing but dust and pounded earth on all sides. The sky was clear, cloudless – and there was a sharp bite to the air, like the winds in late autumn.

"Where am I?" he asked no one. No answer came, not that he expected one.

In the distance he saw a light. Squinting at it, he saw it was coming closer, and fast. It wasn't quite benevolent, but it wasn't malevolent either. It seemed… just sort of in between. Like it was testing him out.

Within moments in was in front of him, and Thom realized it was a man. He looked rich, prosperous. The orange surrounding him made him look even more powerful. Now that Thom could see his face, he realized he did not like this man at all. He was shrewd, cunning, and not to be trusted.

"Hello, my boy." The man said. "Nice to meet you." He was charming, and had a very melodic voice, but still Thom did not like this man.

Thom said nothing. 

"So, Thom," the man began.

"How do you know my name?" Thom interrupted.

The man smiled. "Why your dear brother told me. He told me much about you."

Thom paused for a moment. "Alan?" Thom had written many letters and received many letters from his 'brother Alan.' Sometimes Alanna's correspondences were all that kept him sane.

"Yes, Alan. That boy is strange…"

"What do you mean?" Thom suddenly felt cold. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. It was not a nice smile. "Ah, that I cannot say. But…"

"But what?"

"If you are ever in need of… aid, I could help you in many ways."

Thom's eye's narrowed. This man was a mage, and a good one, if he could dream-send. Dream-sending was one of the most advanced forms of magic, and could only be done when the recipient had no natural dreams- the Dream God did not like his work interrupted.

"Toodles." The man faded from sight.

Thom shot straight up in bed. He'd just had a dream – what was it about now? A man, orange light… something like that. He'd remember in the morning, it was only a dream. Go back to sleep.

Thom slept.

~*~

In the morning they continued their journey. No more mysterious dreams occurred, and Thom forgot about the whole incident. 

When they finally arrived at the City of the Gods, Thom was dazzled by the magical aura of the place. It just – _glowed _with magic – it was seeped into the very stones of the place. Besides that was the impressive structure of the buildings – they must have been hundreds of years old. The rest of the students seemed equally awed by the place. They rode through the streets impatiently, waiting for a glimpse of the school they would be attending for the next five years. 

They rode up to the gates and one of the mage-teachers pulled a rope by the gate. After a moment the gates swung open, admitting them. They stabled their mounts and walked to the front, right where a pair of imposing wooden doors stood, with hinges half the size of Thom's head.

Even before one of the mage-teachers could knock, the doors swung open without a creak, revealing a man in black robes trimmed with green. 

"You are the new mage-students from the Convent of the Mother of Mountains, I assume?" he said. "Please come in, and take off your cloaks and shoes." 

They walked over to the right, where there were hangers with cloaks and shoes lining the walls. 

"We have already had dinner-" a collective moan came from the students, which the man in black seemed not to hear. "But we have some bread and butter for you in the kitchen. Thorman will show you to your rooms, and you will start your lessons tomorrow." A young, unimposing servant came in and led them up a set of stairs to a hall with rooms lining both sides. He checked their names off on a notepad and assigned them each a room – Thom's was near the end, being a "Trebond." 

He thunked into bed and fell asleep immediately.

~*~

The next morning, Thom was greeted not by an ear-blasting bell, but by a servant entering his room and lighting the fire. Thom stayed in bed until the last moment when the servant – her name was Naidie – said, "Master Thom, do get up, you're going to be late!" So Thom levered himself out of bed, blurry-eyed, and wondered why mornings had ever been invented. Particularly Monday mornings.

"I'm to show you to the breakfast hall, Master Thom," said Naidie. "Wash up and come with me." Thom did as told and followed her down a winding staircase and through a few hallways, until they got to the breakfast hall. It appeared that they had breakfast, lunch, and informal dinner in the same room – everybody just called it the breakfast hall. 

There were not nearly fifty students in all, but they weren't the only people living here. The teachers, servants, and even a few loosely related families – but they didn't eat here. Thom sat at the table and waited for everyone to settle down as a different man in black robes trimmed with gold began to speak.

"Welcome, students, from previous years and those new to the City of the Gods. I am Si-Cham, one of the Masters here. New students, please follow me." He strode out of the breakfast hall, and everybody scrambled to follow. He led them through more twisting passageways into a circular room with the walls painted deep blue, and the ceiling and floor the lightest periwinkle. There was a comfortable-looking chair at one end, and many cushions were sprinkled about the room.

"Have a seat, please." He said invitingly. Thom hesitated before taking a cushion. "I am here to familiarize you with the rules of this place," he said. "Number one: look before you leap." The students chittered. "Number two: do not go in others' rooms unless invited. This includes servants' rooms." There were a few raised eyebrows at that. "Number three: anything harmful to any person in this building is forbidden. This includes unbeneficial magic, fighting, pranks, verbal abuse, etc. If you have any relationships with others, keep on your time." There were a few blushed and titters at that. "Your time here is for learning, and enjoying it. Keep it that way."

"You will be outfitted for robes – beginners all wear brown. You will have your heads shaved – yes, miss, you _must_ have your head shaved" – shock among many of the girls – "but it will grow back."

"But _why?_" one of the girls foolishly whined. "My _hair!_"

Si-Cham didn't answer – Thom supposed it was just one of those traditional things, and hoped the girls wouldn't burst into tears or something equally stupid.

So Thom was measured and given a pile of the brown robes – gods they were ugly – and then had his head shaved by Naidie. Oh, well. It would grow back.

The first few weeks were rather hectic – he barely had time to write to Alanna. He was constantly getting lost, the manor was nowhere near as organized as the convent was. It was, literally, a miserable rat-warren. Thom suspected that most of the teachers couldn't draw a map of half the first floor. But hell, at least he could get away from the giggling girls at the convent. Pink bees! Ugh.

They had six different classes: Theory, History, Common Practice, Esoterics, Mathematics, and Natural Magic, which included wild magic (poppycock!!) the magic of the earth and elements, as well as immortals and magical creatures. It was a welcome retreat into books, which Thom enjoyed more than 'hanging out' with people he barely managed not to hate, much less actually like. 

One time, going through the library shelf Thom encountered a particular book. It was called _The Voyages of Thom the Wanderer._ What the – Thom was puzzled. It was a fictionous book about a real hero who lived a few hundred years ago, a knight. Thom snorted. Well, this was his namesake – great thing to live up to, isn't it, when you're to become a mage. Must've been either wistful mother or a father set on making him a fighter. Hah.

He was about to put it back on the shelf, then reconsidered. It might be an amusing read, you never knew. Thom packed up his books and took the little novel up to his room, cracking open the much-worn spine.

__

The Voyages of Thom the Wanderer

Re-written and compiled by Meralie of Sellan

It was actually kind of funny. If Thom actually pictured himself doing the deeds the old Thom was said to have done…

__

"Oh, Thom, please tell me you love me," Mary said. "You're my hero."

"Yes, Mary-poo, you are safe now from the hordes of barbarians that I single-handedly rescued you from, heroically saving the world at the same time."

"There's only one thing, my darling Thommie."

"I know," said Thom, going down on one knee. "Beautiful Princess Mary of Tortall, will you marry me?"

"Of course I shall!" and Mary swept down to enfold her beloved in a passionate embrace. "But one more thing – can I touch your muscles?"

"Yes, my darling," he said, and flexed his rippling biceps for her.

Of course, she virtuously kept her virginity until the wedding.

Thom snorted. Not likely. They'd probably been making cupcakes for years before Princess Mary was rescued. 

__

And so Princess Mary and Thom the Wanderer, soon to be King, lived happily ever after.

Thom slammed the book shut, Well, that was enough of that. Oddly, Thom felt compelled to read it again. So the day after that, he did. After reading it six or seven times, the amusement palled, but he had really enjoyed the book – especially the kissy scenes. Maybe there was another in the library.

And so Thom began to read fiction. What a glorious thing was fiction – in all shapes, colors, and sizes! Especially romance. Especially graphic romance.

For the first time in four years, Thom of Trebond was beginning to enjoy himself.

_______________________________________________________________________ 

For all of you who have no idea what making cupcakes means… keep your innocence. There's this joke that explains that, but it's very, very sick. I know way to many sick jokes for my own good…


	6. Ann

Disclamer: I dun own Tammy's tuff. Dun sue me.

Sorry I took so long. I'm just a lazy bum and I tend to procrastinate. After all, my motto is: it's not procrastination until it's overdue. I'm probably not going to do another chapter for a while, I want to finish off Tamora Pierce Junior High first, and tie off a few loose ends. But after that they'll come up faster, I swear!

I named the Natural Magic teacher after my French teacher. I'm running out of name ideas, here! I sure as hell hope Mme. Guenette is never going to read this (not that **that's** likely). I also named the Esoterics teacher after my English teacher purely for the sake of inserting a rude poem that I wrote one day while locked in his empty classroom with two of my friends – but that's another story. 

Well, hell, might as well drop the other shoe. I named all the teachers after my own teachers. I ran out of name ideas, OK?

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 5: Ann 

Thom, books clutched under his arm, breathed out clouds of steam as he briskly marched down the hallway. Gods, it was cold. Well, that's October weather in the North for you. He was on his way to Natural Magic, and not paying much attention to where he was going when suddenly he whammed into somebody and tripped, splaying his books everywhere.

"Crap," he muttered. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said a voice behind him. "Let me help you-" Thom levered himself off the floor to look up into a pair of eyes. Very, very blue eyes. He swallowed hard.

"Uh, hi," he mumbled. "I was just picking up my stuff…" _Brilliant move,_ he thought. _Now she really thinks you're smart. Stating the obvious, what could be better?_

She giggled and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, I was just going to Natural Magic, and I'm new, I think I'm lost…"

"I'm going to Natural Magic too!" Thom blurted. "You want to… go with me?" Mentally he was repeatedly slapping his forehead.

"Sure." Gods, she was pretty. "What's your name?"

"Tom! I mean, Rom, I mean, Shom. No! I'm Thom. Trebond. Thom of Trebond. Hi." _Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!_

"I'm Ann of Cicily." _Gods, she's gorgeous. _Long, silky brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, and she was just as short as he was. He really, really hated girls taller than he was – it made him feel like some kind of midget. Her skin had just the tiniest tan, and her teeth were perfectly, perfectly straight. Almost oddly so.

"Let's go!" he squeaked, voice jumping as octave. Damn it – now she must really think he was a nerd!

All through Natural Magic Thom was taking peek glances at Ann from behind his textbook. _I'm in love,_ he thought dreamily.

"So, Master Trebond, perhaps you could tell us what happens when you isoterize the glumious of the bisectomene lumerium?" Thom was jolted out of his steamy daydreams by Madame Guenette's question. 

"Erm…" he thought quickly. "I couldn't attend to your lesson because I was distracted by your stunning appearance today. Those robes really offset your eyes."

The class giggled as Mme. Guenette started tapping her yardstick across her palm. "I do hope you realize, Trebond, that I have been happily married for fifteen years and have three children."

Thom decided it was time to shut up. "Yes, Mme. Guenette."

"And since Mr. Trebond has obviously not paying attention and too busy looking at my chest, I shall ask a student to review what we have been doing. Rebecca Carmen?" Guenette picked out a raised hand belonging to a small, thin girl sitting near the back. She was dressed in commoner's clothes – _bah,_ thought Thom, _common blood. It's in her name, it's in her clothes, it's in her looks. I wonder how she got enough money to straggle her way in here._

Rebecca was the kind of girl who was often overlooked, and her pale complexion and night-black hair gave her a look of sallowness. "We have been discussing the effects of magical radiation on the bisectomene lumerium, better known as the Lightwing. Lightwings are small, four-winged insectoids about the size of a man's palm, and great sources of energy. However, they have not been seen for many hundreds of years, and it is believed that they retreated into the Immortal Realms at the same time as the Immortals."

"Very good, Rebecca. What most do not know about the Lightwing is that they are also quite tame and make very loyal pets – probably one of the reasons they are so vulnerable. It is widely believed that they are not in the Immortal Realms at all, but completely extinct, extinguished by men who sought to capture them for their magical properties, or merely as pets, then sold them to uncaring owners who would tire of them quickly and perhaps feed them to their cat." 

Thom paid attention for the rest of class, not wanting to humiliate himself further.

~*~

The next day Thom sat at the breakfast table and moodily stared down at his scrambled eggs. He had never been a morning person, but this morning he was in a particularly bad mood. He pushed his bacon around his plate with his fork and half-listened to a rude poem being recited by one of the students at the other end of the table.

"One day Mr. Luck

Gave Mme. Guenette a fuck

She said, 'Oh, be mine!

Mr. Luck, you are divine!'

He said, 'Suck my dick

You are one damn sexy chick.'"

It went on to even sicker extremes, and Thom was completely disgusted with the entire lot. How immature. Instead of participating, Thom spent most of the meal peeking at Anne out of the corners of his eyes and thinking of ways to impress her.

"Um, excuse me?" a quiet voice came from behind Thom and a thin finger tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to face that girl who had answered Mme. Guenette's question in Natural Magic the other day – Rebecca Carmen.

"What do you want?" he said scornfully.

"Um, well, I saw how good you were at Esoterics and I was wondering if you could help me," she said, staring at her toes.

"Why would I help a commoner with her work?" Thom spat. "I don't even know why they let you in here. Get lost." He turned around to his breakfast once more, leaving a tearful girl standing behind him.

~*~

"It is now time to turn in your homework," said the Common Practice teacher. Thom riffled through his bag to fish out his home work, then placed it on the teacher's desk in front of Mr. DeMontigny.

"Ha, ha, Trebond," Mr. DeMontigny said, and handed back the papers.

"What are you talking about?" then Thom looked down at his essay. Scrawled in huge letters over every page, in red ink, was the word ROC, encircled by a rough drawing of a gigantic bird.

"I didn't do it!" Thom said, shocked. "I have no idea who has!"

"Redo the essay, Trebond," said Mr. DeMontigny, not even looking up.

~*~

In is rooms that night Thom found that no magic means could get the writing off, and he had to do the essay all over again. Who could have done it, and why? Sure, he wasn't very popular, but why write that particular word and picture?

~*~

Weeks after that, the same picture with the word 'ROC' inside it was scrawled everywhere. Most assumed it was just some kind of prankster graffiti artist, and gave it no mind. Thom, however, was not so sure.

He was sure the word ROC meant something. Sure, everyone knew that a roc was a gigantic, bird-shaped immortal, but why chose that particular animal? Thom went into every history and documentary that he could find, as well as dozens of books on immortals, the immortal realms, and even birds in general. None gave any useful information, however, and they all tended to be the same.

__

The roc is a large, bird-shaped immortal, roughly fifty armlengths long with a wingspan of twice that. They are scavengers by nature, and fierce enemies of the dragons for stealing the dragons' dead. It is said that the feather of a roc, when swallowed, will enable a man to fly until the sun sets, when his wings would disappear. Their eggs are big enough for a full-grown man to stand up inside, and glow a sheen so golden it outshines the sun.

It went on and on, with nothing that would help Thom – but maybe he was barking up the wrong tree. Maybe, instead of trying to find out about the animal roc he should theink about the _word_ roc. Maybe it was some sort of play on words, or part of a person's name.

Did he know anyone with a name that had roc in it? The only name Thom could think of was Roxanne, and he didn't know anybody by that name. How about someone with a nickname related to birds?

Thom thought. Play on words, play on words. Maybe a synonym for bird? The word roc in another language? Thom could speak Common, High Gallan, Old Thak and Scanran – none of that was any help. In High Gallan roc was 'oiseaphe', in Old Thak it was 'walle' and in Scanran it was 'ventgin'. Thom went through a few language dictionaries, and none of them led him anywhere.

He was just on the verge of an idea. What if it was a… what if… what if it was an acronym? He snapped his fingers. First he would try out the names of everyone he knew.

Hmm, well there was Arthur, Jaysell, Fennel, Lionel, Marie… think R names. Names that start with R.

Rebecca. Rebecca Carmen. Thom scribbled down excitedly. She fit the last initial, too – did she have a middle name? If it started with an O…

Interesting. Shy little common girl the graffiti artist.

~*~

By now the teachers were getting rather annoyed. The word 'ROC' was turning up everywhere, and _it couldn't be removed._ Nothing serious happened, though – until Marie of ha Minch was attacked.

When they found her she was covered in blood – blood on her face, her clothes, her hands, everywhere. She was barely alive. The five-year old who found her went into shock and wouldn't speak at all for three weeks.

The strange thing was, there were no puncture marks on her body. Her skin was completely unpunctured. 

Except for two small holes on the side of her neck.

The teachers tried to cover it up, but Thom had been the second of the scene. He'd been walking back from Natural Magic when he saw the trail of blood on the floor and went to investigate. As the amount of blood increased he was even more intrigued, until he reached the body.

There she was, lying in a spreading pool of her own blood, a small child kneeling beside her, rocking back and forth. The five-year-old's hands were dripping with blood, and bloody handprints covered the floor and walls around him, as well as his clothes.

Even though this gruesome scene would have disgusted the average viewer, Thom was fascinated. He'd seen to much to be horrified – all he could think was, _how does that much blood come from one person?_ Over and over again. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it wasn't. He calmly walked off to fetch a teacher to clean up the mess without even checking if Marie was alive or not.

Afterwards he put his head to the subject of the attack. Was there some kind of connection between it and the roc? Was, perhaps, the attacker and the roc the same person? Was all the graffiti a warning from the attacker or from someone else?

And what did Rebecca Carmen have to do with the whole mess?

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Review!


	7. The Roc

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. You've seen it, not mine.

Yes, I KNOW I've taken all year on this…. I've just been busy, and have had absolutely ZERO inspiration. I know a lot of you might like to cram me in to forty-nine separate jars for taking so long, so I hope you can all restrain yourselves. 

Just so you all know, half the reason I sat down to write this is because I felt guilty for neglecting it, a quarter because I'm in a rut in an illegally translated version (it adds in a lot of cursing) of Final Fantasy III (on computer) and have no idea what to do next, and a quarter because I'm getting sick of playing videogames behind my mom's back (I sure as hell hope she isn't reading this) and I can't find a decent book that I haven't already read.

One question: is the place where Thom studies a monastery? I mean, you've got priests and everything there. In the books it just says he's at that City of the Gods, am I right? Anyways, correct me if I'm wrong. I also might not have the sequence of events quite right – but I don't want to bother re-reading ITHOTG.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 6: The Roc

Thom had a plan – sure, it wasn't very complicated (if at all) and very, very risky. The chances were ten to one that he'd actually pull it off, but if he did, it would be worth it. Thom was positive there was some connection between the Roc and the attack on Marie of ha Minch (who, as it turned out, was still alive but in critical condition), and intended to find the link between them. A nagging suspicion at the back of his mind was insisting that Rebecca Carmen was responsible for both acts, and the actions of the girl herself seemed to be pointing that direction as well. She walked around as if she expected people to be constantly jumping out at her, and had little, if any, social life. 

Thom's plan went as follows. It was basically one of those sneak-into- principal/headmaster/head-priest's-office-and-read-files-then-escape-before-someone-catches-you plans. He had to find the applicant scrolls to see Rebecca's full name – he was hoping her middle initial would be an O, confirming his suspicions even further. 

The next step after that would be to read up on vampires – for what else could she be? Two holes in the neck was a givaway. Most vampires had either been killed or gone into hiding – but there could always be a few more lurking around – Thom would have to find out. 

~*~

It was the dead of night when Thom snuck out of his room to the office off of Si-Cham's rooms, where all the official documents of the monastery were kept. He didn't carry a candle or light a mage-light – both would alert others as to his presence. The corridors were high-ceilinged and cold, his footsteps echoing on the hard stone. He felt along the wall until he reached the door he thought was the correct one. Grappling for the knob, he opened the door and slowly reached inside to touch something stiff and bristly. He stepped forward with his left foot to clanks into something wooden. 

Thom winced; hoping nobody had heard the noise. Broom closet. Cursing inwardly at his own stupidity, he shut the door quietly and continued feeling along the wall. He encountered another wooden door, and tried not to creak while opening it. Here he risked the tiniest of mage-lights – he'd need it to see. Peering around in the dim light, he looked around at the stacks of books, scrolls and loose-leaf papers strewn about the room. 

__

Whoever cleans this room ought to be fired. There was dust between the books and cobwebs in the corners, and the slightly damp air only contributed to the musty, century-old smell of the place. Glancing furtively about him, he hastened over towards the left where racks of scrolls lined the entire east wall. 

__

They probably aren't even categorized. And I thought I_ was messy._ Having no idea where to start, Thom picked up the first scroll on the pile. It was something about agricultural conditions, making Thom wonder if these were the right scrolls._ Oh, well. I've started, so I might as well continue. _Slowly and painstakingly, he went through every single scroll on the top rack. How long he was there, he had no idea, but his vision was starting to blur and he was having to stifle yawns before he found the right one.

__

Aha! It was a list of mage students that started at about eight years before and finished at the present. It showed their full names (in alphabetical order by fief, duchy, barony, or last name), birth dates, and what level they were in at that time. He saw his name near the bottom at the present year, though his level was fairly average. He'd been holding back – there was no use being a magical genius if people were going to be snide to you about it. 

The teachers were all so fussy, anyway – they insisted on teaching things like ethics and usage instead of getting to the good stuff. They wouldn't even let the students at most of the more advanced books – they said that the students "weren't ready for it yet" and they were afraid the students would hurt themselves. 

Thom was even considering playing it stupid – it would make things a lot easier if everyone thought he was a dunce. He could eavesdrop on any conversation and they'd write him off as too stupid to care. 

__

I've already got a reputation as someone who doesn't pay any attention in studies, and doesn't hand in work half the time. I could twist that tendency into stupidity instead of laziness, I suppose. Thom shook his head. This wasn't the time to ponder such things. Later, perhaps – he had other fish to fry right now, such as looking up Rebecca's name.

Thom's eye's scrolled up to the top of the list, then a couple names down.

__

Carmen, Rebecca Ovelia – February 29th, 422 H.E. – lv. 3 Intermediate.

Thom smiled in silent victory. Now he had something to go by. And if everything went right, he would – 

"Who's there?" Thom dropped the scroll with a clatter and whipped around. Si-Cham, in his nightclothes, held a ball of mage-light in his palm and was peering around the room. Thom was hidden from view by a large bookcase, but the clatter of the scroll gave him away. He panicked, racking his brains for something to get him out of this mess. Crossing his fingers for luck, he summoned a small black cloud around Si-Cham's head and ran for it, dashing out the door as fast as he could and not stopping until he got to his room, flying into bed and under the covers. His breath slowed and he tried his best to feign sleep should anybody enter.

~*~

**__**

A few months later…

Roger, Duke of Conté, sat astride his large bay in a pensive manner. The City of the Gods was always an interesting place to be, but this visit promised to be more interesting than most. He routinely visited the monastery here, and the mage students that studied there. He had heard of a number of promising students there, not in the least the twin brother of one most – _interesting _squire, Alan of Trebond. If Thom had as powerful magic as his brother, then the boy might get to be a nuisance at a future date. His sources said that the boy was quite good, but one could never trust second-hand information, and Roger wanted to see for himself. 

Roger trotted through the gates and up to the wooden front door, then dismounted. Tapping on the door with his sorcerer's rod, he wondered if the food here had gotten any better, or if it still tasted like old boots. Shaking his head at the irrelevance, he waited for a groom to take care of his horse and an escort to his rooms – he always had a suite reserved for him, a nice roomy set with a fireplace in each room. He went to bed that night feeling rather tired, for it _had_ been a long trip and he was quite weary.

~*~

Thom re-read Alanna's letter with a growing feeling of unease. If her suspicions were correct, then the situation was looking quite bad indeed – and as it was, Thom only trusted the Duke as far as he could throw himself. Thom happened to know that Roger often slowed down or even brought to a halt the careers of young mages who might turn out to be as good as he was. Exactly what his methods were, Thom didn't want to know – but he _was _going to keep a close eye on the man. Alanna had never been the paranoid sort, and Thom trusted her judgement well – and he had his own bone to pick with the Duke.

~*~

The Duke of Conté, being as powerful as he was, was often invited to teach a class or two himself. The priest-mages would line up their most promising students for him to teach, and the students would just have to suffer.

Well, suffer was how Thom felt.

Duke Roger was the most egotistical man that Thom had ever met. So positively sure of his own abilities, and no matter how hard he tried, Roger always treated others as inferior in every way. He could get away with it, too, for the simple reason that he was a powerful mage and the Duke of Conté to boot. It made Thom want to gag.

Probably the main reason that he was so disgusted is that nobody else seemed to see through the farce. Roger was making himself popular with the students, and painted a portrait of himself as a kindly mentor to whom you could turn to when you needed aid. And when Thom tried to express his disgust to others, they just gave him odd looks.

"That's insane!" Ann replied when Thom pointed the matter out to her. "Duke Roger is a perfectly charming gentleman, and you should give him some respect."

"He's as egotistical as a pig!" Thom seethed. "Can't you see he's putting on an act to with you over?"

"Well, they say that people are blind to their own faults," Ann said icily. "Your attitude could not be called modest by any stretch of imagination."

"But my immodesty isn't for no reason," Thom protested. "I _am_ as good as I think I am."

"Oh, really?" Ann said, raising an eyebrow. "You're not half as good as Roger."

The cogs of Thom's brain started turning, and something occurred to him. "You don't find him attractive, do you?" He asked.

"I do not!" Ann snapped. "And I'll thank you to keep your long snoot out of my business." And she stormed off in a huff.

"My snoo – er, nose is not long!" Thom yelled after her, rubbing his nose. He didn't quite know why, but at that moment he was very angry at Duke Roger indeed, and would gladly perform some of his most painful spells on the man that very moment.

~*~

Thom had spent so much time worrying about duke Roger that he had almost completely abandoned his plans to catch the Roc. There had been no other incidents, and things were settling down. But, leafing though some of his old notes, Thom saw one of his old essays that had been marked with the sign of the Roc, and all of it came flooding back. _It must be Rebecca,_ he thought. _It all fits. But why would she suddenly stop? Is it because Roger is here? Probably. Roger is such a strong mage, he would probably find her out immediately, so she's lying low. I don't want to tell Roger, that may add more complications that I don't want to deal with. I can't tell any of the priests, they'd never believe me – there's only one person I can trust in this matter, and that's Ann._

Over the time Thom had been in the City of the Gods (was it almost a year, now?), he and Anne had steadily become friends – though Anne was often excluded for hanging out with the 'dunce-prig'. Thom often flouted his lineage (Trebond goes back to the Book of Gold!) and held his nose high in the air, even though he was 'stupid'. The students all assumed that the event back at the Convent of the Mother of Mountains had zapped his brains. 

Thom had finally decided to play it stupid – though overdoing it would be a big mistake, maybe big enough to get him sent home, in many ways it helped a lot. His act was, 'dumb enough to be bogus at Theory, smart enough to have a normal conversation.' It had worked so far, and the only person who knew it was just an act was Ann. He still hadn't told her that his 'brother' Alan was actually a girl – but it wasn't because Thom didn't trust her, it was that Alanna trusted him, and Thom was closer to his sister than he would ever be to Ann.

~*~

"…and even the name fits – R-O-C. Rebecca Ovelia Carmen." Thom explained. He and Ann were in the lesser library – a small area with all the basics books that most of the student were finished with already – around the small round table in the center of the room.

Ann was pensive. "The more you talk, the more it makes sense – but Rebecca? She always seemed so sweet and countryish, hard to believe she'd be some kind of criminal mastermind. But then again, it's the quiet ones you have to watch. How did you find out her middle name, by the way?" And Thom explained the whole escapade, from start to finish. By the end, Ann was holding back giggles. "That was pretty stupid! Why didn't you just cast a simple sleeping spell on Si-Cham? He never holds his personal wards while he's sleeping, just his room wards, and they're only effective on the greater magics."

Thom slapped his forehead. "That's right!" mentally he was thinking, _gods, that was embarrassing. Playing the idiot all this time must have had some kind of permanent impact on your brains, Thom._

"Next time, use your head," Ann advised. "It must be useful for something besides hammering nails." Besides being stunningly attractive, Ann had wit as sharp as a needle and a tongue to match. Thom could only hope that he wouldn't end up on the wrong end of that cutlass. 

"Alright, alright, enough rubbing it in!" Thom protested.

"Why? It's fun." Ann said wickedly.

"Do you want to help me or not?"

"Definitely. You wouldn't last five minutes on your own."

"Aaaaaann!"

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Hah! You didn't think I could finish another chapter, eh? Well I certainly proved you wrong! I'll have you know this was FIVE PAGES long and FIVE HUNDRED words longer than the last chappie. Review!


	8. Secrets

I know I talk too much, so I won't say anything. Really.

Disclaimer: Not mine. S'ALL Tammy's.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 7: Secrets 

Rebecca looked around the Duke's chambers warily. They seemed fairly normal, but you never knew. 

Duke Roger personally evaluated each of the mage-students, to what ends Rebecca didn't know. He seemed charming, and probably was just as nice as he appeared to be, but old paranoias nipped at the edges of her mind as she sat down on a large, padded chair opposite the Duke. There was a low coffee table between them, and a two empty wine glasses rested on it. Rebecca considered herself too young for wine, and ridiculously wondered if the Duke planned to drug her.

__

Don't be silly, she scolded herself. _You'll be jumping at breezes and shadows, just you wait._

Roger was twirling his sorcerer's rod in a seemingly careless manner, though Rebecca was still on guard.

"Commoner, I see?" Roger said finally, making Rebecca twitch back a jump. "Not often those not of noble blood have the money to enter our little… academy." 

Rebecca fiddled with the sash on her robes. "Yes, your Grace. My family is a successful line of merchants. My father saved up for years so I could come."

"I see." Roger stroked his moustache. "Though you seem to have received little previous training, your knowledge of magic is quite broad."

"Yes, your Grace," Rebecca said. "The herb-woman of my village taught me all that she knew, and I studied some of the books that she didn't understand."

Roger didn't press her as to where exactly the herb-woman had obtained the books, which was just as well, because Rebecca didn't have an answer for him. "I am not interrogating you as a criminal, so you might as well relax. I didn't spike the drinks." He smiled charmingly and took a sip from his own glass. 

She smiled wanly back at him and raised the glass to her lips. The taste she experienced was nothing like she'd expected – though it was nothing she'd never tasted before. She dropped the glass in shock, and it shattered into thousands of tiny shards on the table, spraying the thick liquid everywhere. Roger just smiled. 

"That's no cheap vintage," Rebecca covered shakily.

"I'm not fooled, Carmen," Roger "And if you don't want your little… secret… revealed, then you should keep your nose out of others' business." He reached forward to wipe a single drop from the corner of her mouth with his finger, looking at it pensively. "You may go. But remember what I have said." 

Rebecca slowly stood up, looking at the Duke, then ran out the door and down the hall, a terror unlike anything she had ever experienced clutched at her heart. Gods, he knew. He knew, he knew…

~*~

Thom was sitting at his desk, working on an essay, though his mind wasn't really on it. What he was thinking about was Roger. How did the Duke figure in the whole mess? Thom was very suspicious of him, and his suspicions were only heightened by knowing that Alanna thought the same thing. Had Duke Roger caused the Sweating Sickness? He was certainly powerful enough. But why would he want to kill Jonathan?

__

Duh, Thom. Jonathan is the only heir. If he kicks the bucket, Roger is next in line for the throne. And with the Queen wasting away the way she is, Roald and Jonathan are the only obstacles between him and the throne. But why is Roger so interested in Alanna? Could it be that he suspects her?

That train of thought was too alarming to continue. If Roger knew, he could get Alanna to do anything, just to keep her secret quiet. Disturbing images flowed into Thom's head. _Oh, as if. What a sick mind. Have a little sense of realism, Thom, you're jumping to perverted conclusions._

__

And the most annoying thing is, Ann won't believe a word I say about him! She's all for it when I want to work on Rebecca, but when I try to crack down on Roger she won't hear a word of it! Females can be so blind! (**A/N: to say nothing of males, Thommie…**)

__

Rebecca. Roger. Are they in it together, or are they separate deals? And is Rebecca the Roc? And what does the Roc want, besides vandalism? This is much too complicated – I have to think one thing out at a time. 

Rebecca first. I need to trap her – but how? If she's what I think she is, then it will be a lot easier for me. Could I go into her rooms, maybe? Follow her around? Thom snorted at the thought. _That's really going to work, Thom. She won't even see you lurking three paces behind her, not at all. I need to enlist Ann's help for this._

~*~

"So you think that Rebecca Carmen is a vampire?" Ann raised her eyebrow skeptically. They were a small, round table in a lesser-used section of the library, conversing over a few dozen books on vampirism. "Really, Thom, what _have _you been smoking? I want some."

"All the pieces fit!" Thom protested. "Take her appearance – pale skin, dark hair, slight frame. She hates the sunlight, and always goes out in a cloak even when it's hot outside. The attacks a while ago had to have some culprit – if not her, then who?"

Ann thought for a moment. "I admit you have a point, but there's some things that just don't click. If Rebecca needed a certain amount of blood – say, a quarter cup every day, then why would she binge one time and then go bare for months? Does she keep it in a jar in her room or something?"

That particular picture in Thom's mind was not very pretty. "No, she wouldn't. Blood is damned easy to trace, it would be stupid to keep it in her room. Maybe she had so much that one time, she didn't need any more for a while."

Ann shook her head. "Don't you know anything about vampires? Their magic is the lowest form of blood-magic, and, blood-magic, as you know, has to be kept up in constant supply or the user suffers withdrawal. And if you keep going, it eventually eats you from the inside out, so you're screwed either way…"

Thom furrowed his brows. "From the inside out? How?"

Ann sighed as if she had explained this many times. "The reason why most sane mages will not use blood-magic, evil or not. Blood-magic is an amazing source of power – human blood is even stronger. Why do you think that the people hundreds and thousands of years ago preformed ritual sacrifice? But people's bodies can only handle their own magic, _none else._ If you try to handle more magic than you can take, it will kill you. A single drop of human blood, used in the right way, has the power to create or destroy a people."

Thom shuddered. "I think I read something about this… You know, far down south, in the desert, there's a nomadic people called the Bazhir. To be initiated into one of their tribes as a man, some blood ceremony must be preformed. I don't know much about it."

Ann shrugged. "Neither do I. But the point is that vampirism eventually kills you. Funny enough, it's their own nature that keeps them alive. You do know that vampirism is inborn – once you have it, you can't get rid of it, and if you don't have it, you can't get it. It likes to follow bloodlines, though it certainly isn't rare to find a vamp in a non-vampiric family, and if there is a vamp in your family, you're not necessarily going to be one yourself. Vampires are not quite immortal, not quite mortal. Their half-immortality makes them immune to the effects of the blood-magic they use. Legend goes that the first vampire came of a Stormwing and a human woman – don't ask me how that came around."

Thom gave a snort. "I also heard that Stormwings originally didn't have steel feathers, and they were all female. Sounds like a bunch of bogus to me." 

"Anyway, we're off-track. What I'm saying is she needs a steady supply of blood. We need to find out what that supply is, and either cut it off or trap her while she's at it."

"And how would we do that?" Thom asked. 

"Just keep an eye on her," Ann assured. "Who says it has to be a physical eye?"

"Oh, no." Thom backed down. "There's no way you're going to get me to make a mage-eye. Those thing freak me out!"

"Well, if you really want to catch her…" Ann trailed off.

"Going into a graveyard and plucking out the eyeball of a dead mage does not appeal to me!" Thom went on. "That's exactly the way to pick up an age-old curse or bad prophecy or thirteen years bad luck! Sorry, not happening!"

"Well, if you're so superstitious you don't think it's worth it…"

"Superstitious!" Thom hissed. "Are you calling me superstitious?"

"Yes." Ann said simply. 

"That's it." Thom said, slamming a book on the table. "I'm going. Tonight. The cemetery north of the city. Just watch me."

~*~

__

-He's going tonight, my lord.

-Good, good. I shall be waiting for him. He will learn not to meddle in my personal affairs. He knows more than he should. 

-Should we dispose of him, my lord?

-No. The time is not right. And the girl. What of her?

-Her time grows near, my lord. Should we invite her or kill her?

-Neither. Not yet. Her own nature will destroy her.

-She loves the boy, my lord.

-I know.

(Silence)

-You please me, child. 

-My body belongs to you, my lord. I am no longer a child.

-No.

~*~

Rebecca sat in the middle of an empty field, dead rabbit in her hands. Gods, how she wished it could be alive, squirming in her hands, terrified of the inevitable death that would come – no. She could not. To sup on fear was to dine with Chaos herself. 

She lifted the rabbit to her face one last time, to drain sustenance from it's flesh. The taste was bitter, the spiked taste of animal blood, so unlike the sweet tang of – 

__

No. Don't give in.

The last time she'd given in, she'd nearly killed a girl. She didn't want that to happen again.

__

You're killing yourself, you know. Every moment you deny it, you're killing yourself a bit more. You know you need human blood.

Shut up! She told herself. _I won't, can't…_Even as she denied it she choked down the acrid taste of rabbit.

__

You can't live on rabbits and squirrels forever, you know… Oh, she knew. The last time she'd tried to do away with human blood, she'd craved it so much that she'd bitten herself. After throwing up nearly a dozen times, she'd killed someone for need of food.

__

You screwed-up fuck. That someone had been her best friend. 

__

Tasha trusted you. She knew what you were and she trusted you. So what did you do? You killed her and stole every bit of gold you could get your hands on and ran here. Look what that got you into.

Thieves' brat. "My parents were successful merchants" indeed. Successful criminals is more like it. 

~*~

It was late at night, well after midnight. Thom had managed to sneak out through the gardens, and was heading to the city with a paper bag, heavy gardening gloves and a fold-up shovel. He took a horse, making sure to muffle the pony's hooves with burlap bags. His riding was abominable (he was still afraid of horses) and this pony was the only one he could ride without getting bucked off. He managed to get to the city gates, then dismounted and removed the bags from the horse's feet before sending it home. 

He walked round north of the city to the graveyard there. He tried to pinpoint one of the more recent graves, and, making sure nobody was around, unfolded the shovel and began to dig. He dug close to the headstone and soon hit wood, then, sawing it open, revealed a face. It was slightly rotted, but Thom swallowed his disgust and twisted the left eyeball out of it's socket, carefully placing it in the bag.

A strong, gloved hand clapped down on his shoulder, and Thom nearly passed out. The fingers dug into his shoulder, hurting more with each passing second.

"Thom of Trebond," the smooth voice came from behind him. "Fancy meeting you in a graveyard. Prophetic… don't you think?"

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Dun dun duh!! What will happen to dear Thommie? Who is this mysterious stranger? Tune in next time, but review now!! Give me a few weeks to get the next chapter up. I'm still working out how this is going to go. I've just been reading an anthology of vampire stories, and add that to a really strange book about a werewolf (s'called _Blood and Chocolate_) and you've got cliffhangers and graveyard scenes. Review!!


	9. Things Better Left Unsaid

God, I know there are many out there who would like to kill me slowly and painfully right now. Really, I have no decent excuse for procrastinating this long – months, actually. Peeps have probably forgotten this fic existed. Argh. My one excuse: sheer, pure, unadulterated laziness. 

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 8: Things Better Left Unsaid

Thom stood stock still on his spot, frozen in place. He knew that voice. Too well. 

"Your Grace," he said shakily.

"Spare me the formalities, Trebond," Roger replied. "What _I_ would like to know is exactly what you are doing hanging around graveyards and digging up graves in the middle of the night, knowing that you are strictly forbidden to leave the monastery after midnight at latest. Talk as much as you want, Trebond, I'm listening to every word you say."

Thom racked his brains for some plausible excuse for walking around in a graveyard well after curfew. He tried to shuffle some of the dirt back into the grave so that Roger couldn't see what he had done. The paper bag stuffed unceremoniously into his cloak pocket formed a small bulge that Thom hoped the Duke wouldn't notice. 

"Uh…" he stuttered. "I was working on a project… an experiment. I wasn't sure if you'd approve, and I've been busy all day, I mean, I didn't have the time to come here before…" he trailed off.

Roger smiled, causing Thom's spirit's to lift. "You're a terrible liar, Trebond." Thom's hopes plunged as Roger strolled over behind Thom to look at the spot he'd been digging. "Hmm. Near the headstone, which would mean the target item is in the head. That leaves a lot of options." He turned to Thom. "What are you hiding."

"Nothing, sir." Sweat trickled down between Thom's shoulder blades. 

"I told you that you were a terrible liar, Trebond. Give it up, will you?" Suddenly Thom felt an intense pressure in his head, pressure so hard it was almost pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ward whatever it was out – then it stopped.

"Give me the paper bag, Trebond." Thom wasn't so much of a fool as to think he was going to get anywhere by refusing the Duke. He handed it over and the Duke opened it, eyebrows raising as he saw what was inside.

"An eye, Trebond? What is it you are trying to make – a mage-eye? Nice try. That's far, far beyond your level – you couldn't do it even on one of your good days."

Thom flared red with embarrassment and anger. How _dare_ Roger speak to him as if he was an inferior? How _dare _he assume things about Thom's talents?

"I could make a mage-eye with both hands tied behind my back," Thom hissed. "Do you think that I would try to make something that was beyond my level?" Too late Thom realized the mistake he'd made. Now Roger knew what Thom had been about to do.

"I always thought you were better than you let on," he mused. "After seeing your brother, I wouldn't expect anything less." He grabbed Thom's arm. Thom was surprised as the Duke's strength, but he shouldn't have been, really. This man was a fighter, after all. Thom knew better than to resist – what would that accomplish? He could only hope that his punishment would not be too harsh – though he knew it was futile to hope so. 

~*~

Thom knew that he was in deep, deep shit. Roger ordered him too re-fill the grave, and then dragged him back to the monastery, tying Thom's pony to his dapple-gray mare so that Thom wouldn't try to get away. Tying Thom's pony was really pointless – he was such a bad rider that if he had tried to run away, Roger could have overtaken him in an instant. 

When they returned to the monastery, Roger stabled the mounts himself and dragged Thom by the wrist into one of the private entrances, and up a staircase that led to his own quarters. _Why are we going there,_ Thom wondered. _Why doesn't he just take me to Si-Cham? Or is he too 'gentlemanly' to wake any of the Masters up at this hour?_ Thom discarded that notion almost a soon as he had thought it up. _Bull. He must want to use me for his own purposes – hell if I know what they may be. Hell if I _want_ to know what they may be._

Roger unlocked the door to his rooms and opened it, throwing Thom inside. The door was closed and locked before Thom could register anything but his aching wrist and the fact that his head had just banged into the edge of the coffee table.

Suddenly Roger's demeanor flipped. "Sit down, Thom, I need to talk to you." Not really knowing what to say, Thom lifted himself into an elegantly upholstered red chair, not ever moving his gaze from the Duke. His feet scuffed a rough patch on the carpet and he looked down between his feet to see what looked like a blood stain on the carpet. Wondering how it got there, he didn't notice when Roger walked back into the room with a glass of wine in his hand, sipping it as he paced across the floor. 

"So, young Trebond." Thom was very nervous – people only called him Trebond when either they were going to insult him or when he was in trouble. And being called 'young Trebond' had grated on his nerves since he was ten.

"What, your Grace?"

"Do spare me the formalities, Trebond, I find titles so tiring. Call me Roger."

__

When birds swim and fish fly. "Yes, your Grace."

"Let me cut to the chase," Roger smiled, showing all of his shining white and perfectly straight teeth. It was not a nice smile. "What you have done tonight would most certainly get you thrown out of the City of the Gods forever – _if_ it becomes known. But it doesn't have to. I am in need of someone with your… potential talents."

"So what do you want with me?" Thom grated.

"Ever so blunt, young Trebond. Let me just say… I may need your aid at a future time. And unless you want you secret spread around, you may want to follow my wishes."

"You're pretty blunt, too, your Grace."

He just smiled.

~*~

Studies continued as usual, and Ann only asked about the whole affair once – Thom didn't tell her the whole truth, skipping over his and the Duke's 'bargain' and filling in the rest by himself. She took it at face value and didn't ask again. Things settled down for a while – well, relatively. The Roc's graffiti spree continued, and some felt it was only a short amount of time before this so-called prankster did something serious – again.

Thom spent most of his time writing to Alanna – editing out most of the past few events – and studying. He was more at home with the ancient books and scrolls than with any person – perhaps except Ann, but she hadn't talked to him much past a greeting in the hallways for weeks. His sixteenth birthday came and went, though unlike most of the other students would have, he didn't throw a wild party celebrating it – his celebration was reading up on advanced magic theorem. 

In fact, he was reading an in-depth book on the theories behind worldgates, quite late at night, when it happened. A scream came from outside his window – annoyed at being interrupted, Thom threw open the shutters to see a figure lying on the ground – from the pitch of scream, it was probably a boy about his age – and a black-cloaked figure hunching over him. The figure looked up and it's – _it's? her – _eyes bored into his own for a moment before dashing into the darkness.

Intrigued but not wanting to wake anyone, Thom jumped out the window and climbed down the vine trellis – it didn't even wobble under his light weight. Jumping to the ground, he ran over to where the boy was lying, surrounded in a widening pool of blood. On his neck were, as he expected, two puncture marks – but they ripped back and forth along his neck, and blood was leaking from a major artery. His skin was too pale to be alive – Thom felt for his heartbeat, and found nothing. Looking at the boy's face, he saw it was Arthur – the quiet type, but never a friend of Thom's.

He stood up, looking at his hands and seeing they were coated in blood. _I should wash them off,_ he thought mildly and wiped them on the grass in front of him.

He looked to his right to see Si-Cham (old though he was) running towards him, finally making it to kneel by Arthur's body, breathing heavily.

"Don't bother. He's dead. I saw someone running off into the trees, and climbed out of my window to get to it, but I was too late."

Si-Cham gave Thom a long, hard, look. That boy's tone was analytical, cold, and not the least bit shaken. In truth, it scared the Master to see someone like that – someone had just _died,_ and he was standing there, proper as you please, with not a hair out of place.

"You may return to you rooms, Thom." Thom looked at the body for a moment, turned away, and went to the side entrance that Si-Cham had left to get back to his rooms. 

The Master stared at his back for a long time after he was indoors. There was something – about that boy that he did not like. He did not think that Thom was the one who had killed Arthur, and believed his story to be true, but his manner… had Thom always been so cold? Si-Cham had a feeling that Thom was a lot better than he let on, but if the boy was not going to tell anyone, then Si-Cham wasn't going to let on that he knew.

There was darkness around the boy… Si-Cham had a sudden urge to give that child a Tarot reading, and to see if his intuition was correct. A dark fate was following that boy's footsteps, and unless he did something drastic to change it, and soon, it would end up with not only his death but the death of others as well, and nothing Si-Cham could do would ever stop it.

"Gods watch your footsteps, boy, because you're going to need it…"

______________________________________________________________________

A bit short, I know, but deal with it. Review, and try not to flame me for my lack of promptness. -Junipertree


	10. Searching

Sorry for the wait, I've been on holiday at the Valhalla Summer School of Music. Ugh, I SUCKED at the last performance. God. Everyone's like, "oh, Jen, you did so well, it sounded so nice". Um, no. If it got any worse, I'd have run away screaming. I was out of tempo with my accompanist, I messed up numerous times, and it was the worst I've played in weeks. The fact that my solo was so bad was only balanced off by the fact that the orchestra and chamber groups were so damned EASY that I could have played them both five years ago with my eyes closed, my hands behind my back and the music upside-down. If they don't put me in the senior orchestra next year I'm gonna be really pissed. For GOD'S SAKE, I was playing with grade-four level eight-year-olds!! I'm in grade EIGHT violin!! It's pathetic!!! The first thing the conductor asked us at the beginning of orchestra was if we could all play a G-major 2-octave scale!! I can do an F-minor melodic 3-octave scale!! AARGH!! 

Okay, I'll shut up now.

Oh, ps, warning, the end of this chapter is kinda gory. I've been reading to many Anita Blake novels.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, not mine, NOT MINE!!!

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 9: Searching

After Arthur's death, the monastery was in turmoil. Actual searches were starting to be done, finding out the culprit; even the most peaceful of the Masters had to admit that there was a vampire among them. The full search was scheduled in three days – the blood-calling. It was then that Thom had the first visit from Ann that he'd had in weeks.

"Thom?" she rapped on his door, and he looked up from his book on channeling.

"Come in, Ann." He said as he shut his book.

"I need your help." Ann took the extra seat at his desk. "I want to figure out who the culprit is myself, and I need some of your power for the working. It's a one-person spell, though, so I was wondering if you'd just lend some power to me?"

"Certainly," Thom replied. "I haven't got any major workings coming up." He reached for one of the quartz crystals on his desk and turned it over in his hands. "This will do." Concentrating, he put the palms of his hands on the crystal and pushed _outwards_, forcing the violet stream of magic out in a backward vacuum. The quartz ended up warm and glowed slightly as he handed it to Ann. It was a good amount, and about half his stamina's worth. "Hope you pull it off."

"Thanks." She grinned and walked out, waving as she shut the door behind her.

~*~

Roger smiled to himself, twirling a crystal around in his palm. This power would provide just the link that he needed. The working that enabled him to draw power as he willed was complicated, but did not require much power in itself. He already had a small pentacle drawn on his desk in chalk, just big enough to fit the palm-sized crystal inside. 

Roger drew out his sorcerer's rod and stood up, pushing his chair back, to touch the tip of the rod onto the crystal. He let go, and the rod drew itself up to balance vertically on the tip of the crystal, glowing softly. Strands of purple light spiraled up from the crystal into his rod as he chanted the incantation in the original language it had been written in – Old Thak. When Roger stopped, the rod pulsed for a moment, still balanced, then dropped to the desktop in an unceremonious manner. He picked the rod up after a moment, all signs of the power gone except for a faint warmth. Testing out his new toy, Roger pointed the rod at nothing and concentrated on drawing _in._ There was a faint sucking sound, and the power in the rod increased.

Roger would not be able to use this power directly from his body, of course. Whoever possessed the rod would hold the power. He would have to drain it slowly, bit by bit, though, so the person whose power this was would not take notice. Trivial inconveniences like that meant nothing compared to the power he now had access to. 

~*~

The day of the search dawned, forcing Thom unwillingly out of bed – as usual. He grumbled and moaned as he slid out of bed, wincing as his feet touched the freezing wooden floor. It was getting late into fall, and Thom would have to remember to get a rug put there before his feet fell off, some morning. Running his hands through his hair – _I should get it cut_ – he yawned and pulled on his clothes, laid out over the foot of his bed, with his eyes half shut. He imagined that if Alanna got up early in the morning (which she probably did – earlier than he got up) then she would jump out of bed with a war cry and dive in a freezing cold lake before getting ready to have herself whacked. _I wish I had her courage._ Thom rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and put on his shoes before stumbling down to the breakfast hall.

In the first phase of the search the Masters would take the attendance of everyone in the breakfast hall, lock the doors, and begin the rites. None were absent, even those feeling ill. Thom knew the basic theory behind everything they would be doing today, but had obviously never seen it in practice. Basically what the Masters would do is create a sort of comb of power, then drag it through the students one by one. If the person being 'combed' had no Gift, it would pass right through him without resistance. If the person being combed were a mage, then the comb would slide through like a brush through a maiden's tresses. The stronger the Gift, the thicker the 'hair' and the more resistance the comb would meet. If the comb ran through someone who used blood magic, then the comb would halt as if meeting a knot in the 'hair'. Thom wondered (in a purely scientific manner) what would happen if the comb ran through some other kind of magic, such as wild or earth magic. Of course they didn't exist, but even so it would be amusing to experiment.

The spell would be cast and held by none other than the Duke of Conté himself, aided by Si-Cham, who was, technically, the strongest mage in the monastery. As Thom watched Roger cast, he had to admit that the Duke was as good as he made himself out to be. Thom's mage-trained eyes saw the magical overlaying web of power that the Duke was creating, quickly and in a precise manner. It solidified in his 'vision' and started moving forwards, combing through each student, faculty, and significant other one by one as they stood, silent, in rows. It was done in no particular order, as no particular order was needed. You could _tell_ when a person had been checked – it was as if their 'hair' was neat instead of tousled. Thom was smug to say the comb went quite slowly through him – _ha. _He had a strong urge to say something like, 'my Gift's stronger than yours, nya nya' but decided that would be immature and inappropriate. He opted for just looking smug.

The comb passed on through the students one by one without hassle until, suddenly, the spell dissipated. Roger looked quite shocked, as if thinking, _how could anything that _I_ have done go wrong?_ Moments after that, all the mage-lights in the room disappeared as well, throwing the hall into complete darkness. Thom couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. A few students screamed, and the mages tried their best to calm everybody down, to find out exactly what had gone wrong. After about a minute of sitting perfectly still in the dark, listening to the students freak out and the masters bustle and mutter around, the masters managed to summon a few lights in their palms. Thom tried to light one as well, but there seemed to be something blocking him, some kind of elasticized web of power bouncing his magic back. Frustrated, he _pushed_ as hard as he could with his magic, and managed to break through the web.

The masters went through all the students, counting them up again. Two students were missing – Stratmond of Faylor, and Ann. 

"Calm down," Master Leroth, a mage-monk who stayed at the monastery, raised his voice to be heard above the hubub. "There is no need for all this chatter. All the students will stay here, guarded by all the masters save Mistress Hildagarde and myself. We will find the missing students and return here."

Thom didn't trust the masters one whit. If he wanted things to be done right, and if he wanted to find Ann, he would have to do it by himself. Getting away was the easy part – he cast a simple sliding spell, causing other's eyes simply to slide over him and leave him unnoticed. He slipped away down the hall and edged past Master Leroth when he went through the double doors at the end of the hall. Once Master Leroth and Mistress Hildagarde were in a different room, he lit a small mage-light as wandered down the hallway. 

What could have taken Ann, and cast that web? The Web of Sealing was not very complicated, but it took enormous amounts of sheer, raw power. But worrying about that right now wasn't going to get the job done. Thom raced through halls and up staircases until he got to the dormitory floor. If he wanted to trace Ann, he would have to have something of her to use – a lock of hair, toenail clippings, flaked-off skin, even just something that had been in her possession for a long time. He came to Ann's room – _no time for fancy stuff – _and completely erased the magical lock with one burst of power. 

Ann's room was pretty normal. There was a bureau with a small mirror on the right, a bed on the left, and a small privy at the back. Thom strode up to the bureau and went through the doors until he found what he was looking for – a comb. He plucked a few stray hairs out of it and replaced the comb, closing the drawer. 

He knelt on the floor and balled up the hairs in his fist, balling power in his fist at the same time. This was the most primitive way to do a finding spell, but he was in a hurry. 

__

"Do trequin mah vellé Annomé!" It was High Gallan, for, basically, 'I want to find Ann'. For some reason, old languages built power better. 

A beam of violet short from his hand and out the door. The beam went straight through the wall, in a perfectly straight line toward Ann. As the line was fairly thick, Thom knew that she was close. He ran out the door and down the hallway, trying to maneuver so that he could go in as straight a line as possible. This spell was a bitch because it went straight though everything, and you had to go around. 

Thom ran down the stairs again, taking two at a time. Every moment he wasted was a moment that _something_ could be hurting Ann. It never even crossed Thom's mind that maybe she could have gone voluntarily. 

The light string led him around corners and through more hallways until it stopped at a glowing point, blocked by some kind of shield. This was – Roger's rooms! But how could Roger have taken her – he was still in the dining hall. Maybe he had some kind of mage-made creation to do his dirty work. That was a thought Thom didn't even want to think about. 

Roger's shields weren't really that strong – if they were, the masters would get suspicious. A fairly simple spell dispelled the shields and the "hot spot" doorknob that burned anyone who touched it. 

Thom opened the door to Roger's rooms, and was shocked. 

Ann was hunched over Stratmond, the other missing student, a knife in her left hand. Blood was pooling on the floor by the boy, running from a gaping hole in his chest. Points of his blood were dabbed on her forehead, on her heart, and on the back of each palm. Blood trickled from the corner of her smiling mouth and dripped unheeded off her chin. 

In her right hand she held Stratmond's still-beating heart. 

"Mithros' fucking balls." Thom just stood there. For a moment he thought maybe he should feel pain, betrayal, or something equally as soppy as that. But he just felt cold. Cold as hell, and pissed off.

"The Web." He said slowly. "You cast it using my power, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." She hissed, standing up. "You're so stupid, you'd trust any girl with a giggly voice and a big chest to wiggle in your face. But the power was not just for me. It was for my master."

"Who!" Thom barked. "Who was it?" he was afraid he already knew the answer.

"Roger." She whispered his name like she would whisper to a lover. "He gives me everything I need."

"You fucked him, didn't you."

"And he was sooo much better in bed than you are." Ann grinned.

"I was so god-damned drunk I couldn't out two words together!" Thom nearly yelled. He was turning red with fury.

Ann just smiled. Slowly, she raised the heart still in her hand to her mouth and shoved it in her mouth. Her jaw seemed to expand, dislocate, as she swallowed it like a snake, the bulge going all the way down her throat to disappear into her stomach.

"Dear gods." Thom whispered.

"Still haven't figured it out yet?" Ann smiled again, showing her white teeth stained with blood. "The Roc. It wasn't that poor common girl Rebecca. She may be a vampire, but such plots are beyond her simple mind." She started to pace back and forth beside the body. "Still don't get it, young Trebond? ROC. Rhiannon of Cicely. You didn't seriously think that my full name was Ann, did you? But you didn't ever ask, did you? Typical man. Never looks at the brain, only looks at the butt."

"Up yours, bitch." Thom raised his hand, fingers up, palm out.

"You already did that, Thommie dear." She smiled.

She smiled as a bolt of purple light shot out of his hand. She smiled as it hit her. She smiled as his mage-energy ate her up from the inside, burning her to ashes. She smiled in the face of her own death.

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

I've really been reading too much horror. Come on, eating a beating heart like a snake? Review anyway.


	11. Paying What is Owed

AAARGH!! I just read over my last chapter, AFTER posting it, and saw all my typos. I wrote, 'door' instead of 'drawer', 'out' instead of 'put', 'short' instead of 'shot' and said mouth twice in the same sentence. I really should have said lips, then mouth. 

Okay, so I'm nitpicking. But I have LEARNED my LESSON. Always, always, ALWAYS read it over for errors before you post it. I just got lazy and forgot. And ya know what? I'm too lazy to go back and fix it, too. Maybe I'll fix it some day, some day when Alanna marries Jon and Thom stops being the coolest character ever.

Disclaimer: Don't sue me, I dun own it, it's all Tammy's and if I had money…. Well, if I had money then I'd get a machine that automatically inserts knowledge into your brain so I wouldn't have to go SCHOOL in TWO DAYS!!!! (probably less than one by the time I post this…)

PS… I came up with this chapter title after finishing Cold Fire, in which Daja is constantly griping about paying what is owed and balancing the books and stuff. It must be a Trader thing. Money-obsessive. Anyhoo, if you haven't read it, do, because it's good. 

PPS… I'm not so sure about the time flow. Roger was prolly supposed to be in Corus in the time when I wrote that he was in the City of the Gods. Oh, well. 

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 10: Paying What is Owed

Thom hadn't really been sure how to explain the lack of Ann's body, or why he had been there in the first place. Mistress Hildagarde had burst into the room a few moments later. Thom was sure he was going to be expelled. 

But then she just got this funny, blank look on her face, and stood there, unmoving. Thom too that opportunity to escape back to the dining hall. He whole mess had somehow been covered up, and though Roger had never said anything, Thom was sure that he had been the one covering Thom's ass.

The days went by. Things went back to a semblance of normality. Everyone just seemed to ignore what had happened, and went back to their daily lives. Thom suspected that Roger was an even more powerful sorcerer than he let on. 

Thom never forgot that Roger had asked him for a favor. Under mage's code, a favor like the one Roger was asking in fact put Thom under a magical compulsion. It was one of the basest and oldest forms of magic, right up there with the traditional oath. Not performing the favor could result in many things, none of them pleasant. So Thom lived under the constant pressure of the promise, hoping it would not be anything too bad. Knowing Roger, that was quite unlikely. 

One day after dinner, Roger brushed past Thom's elbow as he left his table. "Come to my rooms at midnight tonight. It is time to be paying what is owed." Thom shivered. The way he said it had sounded like a threat.

Since midnight was long after curfew, Thom would have to do some sneaking around – but that was no problem. He cast the eye-slide-away spell again and crept down the hallways to Roger's rooms, raising his fist to knock on the door. Roger opened it even before Thom's fist hit the wood. 

"Welcome, Young Trebond." Thom couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "But then again, you have been here before, have you not?" He smiled. 

__

How did he know? Mentally Thom slapped his forehead. _He's the strongest mage in Tortall, moron, he could tell you what your second cousin three times removed ate for breakfast on midsummer three years ago._ "Yes." He said shortly, and walked in. 

"Have a seat." Roger motioned to a blood-red futon by the fireplace. Thom nervously sat down.

"I am going to be leaving the City of the Gods in less than a week," he began. "And I do not have the time to carry this errand out for myself."

"What is it?" Thom clasped and unclasped his hands, looking down at the floor. Roger was the only man he knew who could make him this nervous.

Roger just smiled again. "There is a person of… minor importance that I want removed. Permanently."

"Who?" Thom was not liking the sound of this at all.

"Young Rebecca of Carmen – I believe you know her?"

"Yes."

"Not much of a talker, Trebond? Ahh, never mind. Before I go any farther, I want to make something very clear to you. None of what we speak here is to go beyond these walls. If you do, some very… unpleasant things may occur. Am I understood?"

"Yes, your Grace." Sweat was beading on Thom's forehead. This did not sound good at all. 

"Good, as long as that is in order." He flashed his perfectly white teeth. "Now, I have a rather basic plan for you, but it is your responsibility not to get caught. If something adverse happens, I will not be able to pull you out of it. You are not so important to me that I will risk my reputation on saving you."

"Yes, your Grace."

For once the Duke did not tell Thom to call him Roger. "You may go." Thom got up and started to walk to the door. "But remember, young Trebond – I have eyes and ears everywhere, and not all of them are human. If you fail to do this task I have sent you, you might find out that my eyes and ears have weapons as well."

Thom just nodded and hurried out the door to his rooms. Gods – Roger was asking him to kill someone. Commoner or not, murder was an offense that would get him thrown out of the City of the Gods, have his magic blocked off and taken to Corus to sit some downtime in the dungeons before returning to Trebond in disgrace. Technically, he had killed before, but this was cold-blooded planned murder.

He wouldn't get caught, then.

~*~

Rebecca's life slowly went back to normal. Sometimes she marveled at the fact that she hadn't been caught. It was unbelievable, insane. She had a feeling that her luck was about to run out, sooner rather than later.

She was walking down the hallway, looking at the floor as she always did, to Theory when she bumped into Thom. She jumped in surprise and dropped her books. "Oh! I'm sorry…" Thom said nothing. He just gave her the oddest look, like the look you gave a working dog you didn't really like but had to live with anyway. At least, that was what she _thought_ he was looking like.

"Get out of my way." He huffed, and continued on past her, not even offering to pick up her books. 

__

He hates me because I'm poor, she thought. _That's all there is to it._ Her lower lip trembled. _I wish I could make him notice me. Anything at all, I'd do for him. _ She snorted to herself. _Why? He treats me like dirt. He's an asshole. He's the most egotistical person I've ever met. _

It's his eyes. The deep violet of his eyes, that hide all the secrets in the world. Secrets nobody knows but him. Dangerous secrets. 

Gods, why am I daydreaming? I'm late! 

~*~

Roger left the City of the Gods a couple of days, leaving Thom only with a horrible feeling of foreboding. His plan called for an almost complete lack of magic – the only magic that Thom _would_ he using was intensely powerful stuff that was unbelievably difficult to trace. Thom planned it for days and triple-checked every possible thing that could go wrong. It was seamless – or so Thom told himself. 

Almost a week later, the plan was executed. Thom laughed bitterly to himself at his choice of words. He was dressed all in black – clothes ordered from four different tailors to be delivered to four different locations. He would burn the clothes afterward. His entire body was covered in cloth – he had cast a spell to ensure that not a single piece of evidence would remain of his passing – not one hair or thread or flake of dead skin.

He didn't walk down the hallway from his room, that would leave a trail. He climbed down the vine outside his window and walked a fair distance away, then cast the spell to erase his magical trail. He came to the monastery in a winding path, neither coming from or going to a straight location. Finally he stopped outside Rebecca's door. He opened it softly, and saw her sleeping on her bed quietly. She was not out tonight - that made things easier, though Thom had planned for that possibility. 

Quickly he cast a spell of silence over the entire room, so not a single noise would escape to betray him.

~*~

Rebecca had woken to the sound of someone breathing over her. Once awoken, she was fully awake, as always. She was suddenly paralyzed with fear. Who was this in her room? Why had this person come? She didn't open her eyes and show herself awake until after she heard a spell of silence being cast around the room. She sat bolt upright and jumped out of bed. The man in her room – it was most definitely male – was dressed all in black, face masked. 

"Why are you here?" She clutched her thin nightgown to herself, trembling from more than the cold. She started to form a spell behind her back, one that would stop him in his place. In a moment she just felt it vanish, as if an invisible hand had swept it away. 

"Don't even bother." The voice said. She recognized it immediately. It was the voice she heard in her dreams, the voice that scorned her every day. 

"Thom?"

The figure seemed startled. "Yes. But you won't live long enough to tell anyone else that." His next phrase froze her insides. "I've come to kill you."

"Why?" she was starting to panic. "What have I done?"

"We both know the answer to that." Thom said, moving forward. He produced a long and slender knife from his belt. 

"Gods no." Rebecca whispered. Thom lunged forward, but Rebecca dodged to one side, and he only caught her arm with his knife. A long gash opened up, blood already trickling down her arm.

At the sight of blood, Rebecca went wild. Her own wound went unheeded, and her front teeth elongated into fangs. She whipped around and clasped Thom's arms to his sides in a viselike grip that no human could have managed. She went for his neck, sinking her teeth in with a sharp pain and sucking Thom's life away.

Thom wriggled in her grip but could not let go. Finally he Threw her off with a burst of sheer power. She lay on the floor, panting, her lips smeared with blood. 

Thom put his fingers to his neck and came away with blood. "Bitch."

Rebecca gazed at him almost lazily. "Don't worry, Thom, you won't go vamp. Your blood is too pure for me."

"Thanks for the information," Thom said sarcastically. Before she could reply he lunged in for the kill. He stabbed her straight through the heart with twelve inches of silver-enforced steel. 

She looked up at him for a moment before she died, with the oddest look on her face. "I love you." Then she disappeared into dust, the ensorcelled blade transmuting her body into air.

"Fuck." Thom just stared at where her body had been. All of her blood that had been in the room had disappeared as well. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts, then got to his feet and Looked around the room. He remade her bed, then erased all signs of himself and his magic. He left by climbing down the vines outside her window. 

Thom went to a spot in the woods where he had stashed his nightclothes. He burned all of the black clothing and de-spelled the knife, then melted the knife into a lump of metal. He shattered the metal into flakes and scattered them around the woods. Then he got dressed and went back to his rooms, erasing all signs of his passing as he walked.

He was completely and utterly drained. Even for a mage of his strength, the murder had taken all of his energy. To ward away further suspicion Thom drained all the magic from his collection of power-holding crystals, bringing him to just past half magical strength. A good, solid rest would refresh most of the rest. Thom fell into bed, never wanting to wake up again.

~*~

Thom was woken up far too early in the morning with a blazing headache. "Go away," he said to the servant.

"Milord, it's time to get up. Some very unusual things have happened during the night." _No shit,_ Thom thought. 

The fire was already lit, and Thom's clothes were laid out. "Get out. I'm going to change." The servant bowed and left.

Thom splashed some thankfully warm water on his face from the basin in the wall of the privy, and looked at himself in the mirror. There were huge bags under his eyes, which were bloodshot. His complexion was paler than usual. He looked like a sheet. 

__

Gods. I'm sixteen and already a killer. Thom thought for a moment, then laughed, a hoarse, barking sound. _Seventeen, today. Way to celebrate my birthday. Alanna's birthday, too. I wonder what she's doing now? I wonder if her stay at Corus was near as exciting as my time here. Maybe she had all sorts of wonderful adventures. Think of it – Alanna: The First Adventure._

…Nah.

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

I rather like that chapter ending. NEwayz, I think… I'll have at least three more chapters. In fact, I'm not sure at all. The story writes me, not the other way around! Review!


	12. Visitors

Wow that last chapter was freaky. 

Anyway, so basically the next part will be Thom in Corus and stuff. I was thinking of calling it part two or something, then decided it wasn't worth it.

I'm too lazy to check ITHOTG, so events might not be quite right. And I cannot for the life of me write George's accent. I'll try.

Disclaimer: Thom isn't mine. George and Alanna, who are making appearances in this chapter, aren't mine either. Tortall isn't mine, the Tammyverse isn't mine, nothing is mine. Don't sue me. 

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 11: Visitors

Here's what happened in short: absolutely nothing.

Well, absolutely nothing so long as Thom was concerned. Searches went on for months, but they came up with nothing. Thom hadn't even worried – he knew he'd covered his tracks so well that even Roger wouldn't have been able to find the culprit. Things were beginning to fall into a semblance of normalcy when a meeting for all the senior students was called.

It was basically a pep-talk from the Masters.

"A lot of disturbing things have been going on, but the younger students need your support. We're hoping to put an end to this…" blah, blah blah, blah, blah. Thom was bored after five minutes.

"…are there any questions?" Si-Cham finally finished off.

Thom raised his hand. "The recent events will not be affecting the tests, will they?"

Si-Cham looked puzzled. "Hopefully none of your schoolwork will be affected."

"Then may I request to take the Ordeal of Mastery?" The other students snickered, and a few laughed outright. Thom of Trebond, the idiot, take the Ordeal of Mastery?

Si-Cham blinked for a moment, the ignored the snickers and continued. "If you wish to take the Ordeal of Mastery, a written examination must be taken first to prove yourself worthy."

"When may I take it?" The others stared. Let them.

"Tomorrow at dawn, if you wish." 

The meeting was adjourned, and Thom left to study. He didn't think he'd need to, but it never hurt.

~*~

He awoke at dawn, wishing he hadn't. Why couldn't these tests be at a sane hour of the day? What the hell was so special about dawn, that you had to take the exam at this very time of day?

Somehow Thom threw on some clothes and cleaned himself, slapping his cheeks to wake himself up. _Test, test is today. Wake up, Thom, test is today. _

He stumbled down to the written examination room, a room so well warded that no magic could be preformed in the room. The anti-magic room was a precaution only taken with the final exam, to make sure that the test was perfectly accurate and fair. 

For all of his preparation, the test was surprisingly easy. Everything on the test Thom had studied and practiced to death, and he was sure he'd gotten every answer perfect. He was done in record time, surprising Mistress Hildagarde, who was supervising his test.

Thom didn't fret about his results the slightest bit. When he found out how well he'd done a day later, he was not surprised at all when he came up with perfect grades.

Everybody was totally shocked that Thom had not only passed, but had passed with higher marks than anyone had in decades. Thom ignored them as he always did – they were all just jealous of his power. He didn't need them for anything. He'd done things before his Ordeal that most mages could never accomplish in a lifetime.

All that went onto second rack, though, when Alanna showed up at the City of the Gods – with a friend. He foretold her coming a few days ahead of time, and was more than ready for her by the time she came. It turned out that Alanna had tried to reply to his last letter, but that the messenger, on of George's men, had been shot down long before he reached the northern city.

Thom invited them both into a private lounge that he now had access to, as he was now at Adept rank. Alanna had just left for the privy, leaving him a moment alone with George.

"It's so nice to see Alanna and her… friend."

George smiled widely. He had not missed the implications there. "No, we're not lovers."

Thom was not stupid, and could read people like a book when he cared to. "I bet you wish you were."

"That's none of your business, lad."

Thom bristled at being called 'lad', but kept his composure. "She's my sister. She means more to me than anyone else. I don't want anyone fucking with her."

"For all your bloated ego, you care about Alanna." The older man smiled bitterly. "Don't worry. It's not me that's fucking Alanna."

Thom hadn't missed the omission of the 'with'. "Kick his ass for me, will you?"

George had no time to respond, because Alanna came back in. Thom still didn't like George, but he didn't hate him. Anyone who truly cared for Alanna, Thom couldn't really hate. 

~*~

What Alanna told him confirmed much of what he already knew. Thom would never tell her about what Roger had made him do. He was afraid that if he did, Alanna would think him weak. That she would hate him for being weak, be disgusted by him. Alanna would never have let Roger do the things he had done, had she been there.

Thom just told her what he could, omitting anything that would arise her suspicions. One thing he found quite interesting was what she called her emberstone – outwardly, and to most magical senses, it was just a charm, but to deep mage-sight it was _soaking_ in magical power. Something that powerful could only have been touched by a god. He preformed a simple experiment to test it's power, knowing it was likely to disturb the magical fields all over the monastery. Si-Cham, of course, was royally pissed, and made him fix it all for his Ordeal of Mastery.

Alanna's stories were amazing – Thom was hanging on her every word. If Alanna had changed at all, it was all for the better. Thom wondered if he could say the same about himself.

__

One difference between our adventures is that hers all have happy endings. Alanna deserves happy endings. I don't. She deserves to keep the illusion that she always has… that through the ultimate good, all evil can be defeated. I suppose that works, most of the time. It's a lot harder to believe that when…

When the evil is inside yourself.

~*~

Alanna left the City of the Gods, leaving Thom not sure whether to be happy that she came or depressed that she went. Sometimes Alanna was his only thread of sanity in a crazy world.

Thom's Ordeal of Mastery was only a bit harder than the written examinations, and the spoken exams were about in between. The Masters and the other students continued to treat him coldly and distantly, but it bother Thom less than it used to. He was more powerful than any three of them put together – why should he care what they thought? 

Thom had a brainwave. He knew that Alanna would pass her Ordeal – she was under the Goddess's protection, was she not? Every knight must have a shield, and Thom decided to make his sister one. 

First of all, he would need a base shield. Since Thom knew nothing about that sort of thing, he hired a man to go into town to buy him the best quality shield that he could buy. To test it, Thom hit it with varying degrees of magical force, and pleased at finding it sound, paid the man extra.

Next Thom layered the shield with layers of protective spells. Spells against puncture, shattering, cracking, scratching, rusting, bending, flattening. Next he layered magical protections – against heat, cold, war-mage spells, transformation, alteration of density and structure, and sheer magical pressure. 

What would he paint on it? At first the Trebond arms came to mind – a black tower on a red field. But that would never suit Alanna. Some kind of personal arms, perhaps? Something that showed her vigorous nature. A great cat, perhaps. A lion. No, a lioness, that was it. He would paint a golden lioness rampant on a red field, fitting as it was the same background as her family arms. But he couldn't show the lioness too soon – so he would paint both, and layer the Trebond arms on top. He hired an artist to paint both images life-size on separate pieces of paper, life-size. First, he re-set the lioness onto the shield, and set the strongest spells he could against the paint wearing. Next he layered over the Trebond arms, casting a spell on it so that the image would disappear when Alanna's true gender was known. She'd eventually tell everyone the truth – Alanna had never been as comfortable with lying as he was.

He looked at the finished work proudly. The entire thing had taken him a couple of weeks to complete. Now he was free to leave the City of the Gods and travel south to Corus, in time to make Alanna's knighting ceremony. He wouldn't miss the look on the courtiers' faces for anything.

~*~ 

Thom still hated riding.

__

Here I am, eighteen, a grown man, and an Adept, and I still ride like a sack of potatoes. The feeling this revelation gave him – humility – Thom did not enjoy at all. _Alanna will laugh._

So Thom just gritted his teeth and hung on, trying not to be trounced out of the saddle. _I will never ride again. I will never ride again. I will never ride again._ His saddlebags, Alanna's shield inside, were slapping against his legs and probably bruising. Cursing himself at being such an idiot, Thom tried to cast a small spell to keep the bouncing down. His pony did not like the spell at all – it ground to a halt and stayed that way until Thom took it off. _I'm just going to have to suffer._

He took the road south alone, with only one packhorse. He could take care of himself perfectly fine, thank you very much.

Thom reached Corus only a few days before Alanna's Ordeal. He amused himself looking around at the magical goods shops and going through the castle library. Roger knew he was here, of that Thom had no doubt, even though Thom never saw him with his eyes.

The days to Alanna's Ordeal counted down to nothing, and finally it was there. Thom watched her stumble out of the Chamber exhausted and with bloody raw hands, but otherwise fine. He presented her with her shield in front of the king and the queen, enjoying the gawks he got from being an Adept so young. 

~*~

__

Alanna, you crazy girl. Well, the secret was out, now. Thom stroked his short red beard thoughtfully. He could only wonder at her just – breaking into Roger's chambers, like that. How on earth had she gotten through his wards? Alanna was a magical spud. She knew nearly nothing about it, despite her Gift being just as strong as Thom's. The only way she could have busted though was through sheer power. 

She was a fool to think she could kill Roger that way, though. They were all fools. If they really wanted the duke dead, permanently dead, then they should burn him. Thom knew Roger too well to assume that Roger would not have taken any precautions against his own death. Roger was far too well-planned for that.

Alanna left Corus to go south shortly after the fiasco, a smart move on her part, Thom thought. She should leave everybody some time to think about a lady knight without her around shoving it in their faces. But back to Roger, this was important.

__

His body is still pulsing with magic. When most people die, their Gift seeps out. Why is it that his remains? Thom watched as they pushed Roger's drawer closed in the morgue, still unable to figure out the puzzle. _What did he do to his body? I See preservation spells, so he won't rot, that's quite obvious. But the rest…?_

The only person who might know anything about it was Delia. Thom wrinkled his upper lip at the thought of having to go anywhere hear her. Her overripe attractions had never captured him, and just seemed slutty to him. Roger's former lover, though she would not know the specifics of spells, would know where the duke had hidden his most secret tomes.

It was disgusting to ponder, but he was going to have to spend some time with Delia.

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

A bit short, but not to bad by my standards. Review!


	13. Delia of Eldorne

Hmm… This may be the second or third-to-last chapter, I'm not sure how much longer this can be. I may get on a roll and really stretch it out, though I doubt it.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine…

I just realized, as I read through ITHOTG the other day, that I left out so much. Like the chain mail that Thom sends Alanna. How could I have forgotten that?? I'm such a moron… oh well, too late now.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 12: Delia of Eldorne

Thom spent in days at the palace in luxury, enjoying the food, the servants, and the general pampering. It was a helluva lot softer than his days of living like a priest back up in the City of the Gods. He hoped that Alanna wouldn't be _too_ disgusted with him. He'd heard that his sister was travelling down south with the Bazhir – he wished her well gallivanting in the middle of nowhere. There was only one thing that put a cramp in his style, or, to be more specific, one woman.

Delia of Eldorne, was, to put it mildly, a slut. 

Delia used her looks to her advantage when she wanted something out of anything male, and Roger had used her for that very reason. So a little playing the fool, and Thom could get exactly what he wanted out of the lady of Eldorne. Instead of being the user, Delia had become the used. She had access to tomes that Thom much wanted to get his hands on, and was willing to almost anything to get. Besides, he had other needs. He hadn't had a good lay in years, and celibacy had never been his thing.

Wheedling the information he wanted out of Delia, on the other hand, was harder than he had first assumed. She was playing coy with him, and stretching Thom's patience to the point where he almost resorted to threats to make her give him what he wanted. 

Delia finally brought Thom back a single book, teasing him with a small piece of Roger's vast inventory. Bit by bit, he won her over, until Thom had access to Roger's private library. 

Roger's private library was nowhere as near as large as the palace library. It was not even close. What distinguished the Duke's library was not the number of books, but what was written in them. Most of the books and scrolls in Roger's library would be enough to get him thrown into jail just for owning them. Blood-magic, death-magic, summoning demons and devils, black magic spells created for one purpose only: torture and death. 

Thom wasn't really interested in that kind of thing, and the graphic images in some of the books frankly scared him. One of them in particular rang a bell – a book solely on a specific race of demons called the Ysandir. Long ago, before the Old Ones, the Ysandir had been all over the place. They lived by sucking out the life energy of other beings, effectively killing them. They were immortal, though they could be killed. When the Old Ones came, they drove the Ysandir into hiding underground. After the Old Ones' fall, the Ysandir began to gain power. Their power reached its peak when they gained control over the Bazhir people, offering them lands and wealth. The Bazhir had rebelled when they realized that the Ysandir were stealing their souls. Finally the Ysandir were sealed in a black city ringed by fire, but they continued to steal the Bazhir's children, calling them in the depths of the night.

Most of that Thom had heard from Alanna in their letters, but the detail was very engrossing. The Ysandir had been famous for melding parts of human and animal together to create new beings, which they used as their slaves. Their famous black city was said to have been made from the stone of the Black God's realm, mined from long before the days when the boundaries between the mortal and the immortal had existed. The entire city had been carved from a single huge rock, symbolizing the Ysandir's collective memory. The Ysandir had the longest memory of any race ever recorded, their knowledge spanning millennia. 

Much of Roger's library contained spells of death, and counteraction of death. Spells to prolong one's life, spells to preserve a dead body, spells to put a person into a magical sleep. There was nastier stuff as well – how to create an object spelled so that that anyone who touched it would die, spells on the most painful deaths possible, and not suprisingly, spells on magical sickness.

Thom divided his time between reading books from the palace library and Roger's library, and putting up with Delia. The latter part was the most trying of the three. Now that he had full access to Roger's books, he really had no need for her. But she followed him around like a sick puppy, annoying him no end. Thom could have dealt with her whining, had it not been for the rest.

Delia nagged him, day in, day out. 

"Why do you want to go through Roger's books? You'd never be able to cast the spells he had in them."

"Are you strong enough to cast such-and-such spell?"

"You don't pay attention to me anymore."

"Why do you never attend court functions? If you're as powerful as you say, the court would give you the respect and fear that you deserve."

Her comments were beyond annoying, but he wouldn't let them interfere with his work. Thom was busy fully testing the extent of his abilities, seeing how far he could go before the spells went beyond him. He went through many exotic tomes of spells that meant nothing to anyone but a Master, but which all required a large amount of power. It was precisely Delia's nagging, however, that got him onto his next test.

Attempting to raise the dead. 

Thom preformed quite a large number of experiments on the subject, as well as reading as many books on it that he could get his hands on. Many scrolls only had vague references to such experiments, or else they were talked about in a purely historic manner. 

Alanna left the desert for Port Caynn in late summer, but Thom knew that she wouldn't come to Corus – she was still in a fit over Jonathan. Thom couldn't really blame her, but wondered why on earth she had gotten into a relationship with him anyway. He was such an egotistical spoiled brat. 

Now that Alanna was closer in range, he could tap the power that he needed for one of his latest experiments. The fluctuation of power might disturb the surrounding area a bit, but nothing major. He performed it in about mid-fall, without any major interruptions. Thom only sensed one presence testing his shields, but it was much too weak to get through. The experiment proved to be semi-successful, but Thom had other things on his mind. 

Namely, one George Cooper paid a visit to him.

"It's so nice to see Alanna's… friend."

George grinned. "Why not call me her lover and be out with it?"

It was that moment that Thom realized he was jealous of the thief. He could see in George's mind that he loved Alanna, and that Alanna loved him back more than she would ever love Thom. This _thief_ had found his way into Alanna's heart, somehow. His sister had always been the only one he cared about besides himself, but Alanna had loved many.

__

Maybe that's why she's happy and I'm still alone. But Thom refused to give in to self-pity.

"Your relationship with my sister will gain you nothing with me."

George shrugged. He told her that his mother had been drained dry just for testing Thom's shields, and Thom really could not care less. George also relayed his suspicions that Thom was trying to raise the dead. Thom was starting to get angry. It was none of this man's business what he did. He wanted this man out, now, and told him so. 

George paused before the door. "If you ever need help, you can call me."

Thom ordered him to leave, and George finally did. Shortly after George went back to Port Caynn, Alanna left town and headed south with Coram, probably back to the Bazhir.

~*~

Delia continued to nag him, pushing Thom's patience to its limits. But he kept a rein on his temper, until one day that Delia nagged him into attending a court function.

"I never see you do any magic," she whined. "Can't you cast a spell for me?"

"Amusement spells are extremely simple to someone of my power," Thom growled. "I'm not going to waste my time on them."

"If you're as powerful as you say, why can you not do anything that is written in the great scripts of mages?"

"I'm just as powerful as any of them! What can they do that I can't?" 

"Coron the Fire-Sword was said to have destroyed entire armies with one sweep of his sword."

"Do you see any armies in need of conquering nearby?" Thom snapped.

"Rastel the Wise could heal a death-wound with a single touch."

"I'm not a healer, you ninny. And do you see anyone dying around here?" He was starting to get angry.

Delia continued smoothly. "Kerel the Sage was said to have raised the dead, as was Denmarie the Earth-Shaker. Roger had the power to do it, but you'd never be able to."

Thom was furious. How _dare_ she insult his power like that! "I can do anything that Denmarie the Earth-Shaker can do!" he was loud enough that the entire hall fell silent at his roars. "I'm the strongest mage in Tortall, and I don't need _you_ to prove it! I'll have a man raised from the dead before the next full moon, and you can bet your slutty little ass that all of the Eastern Lands will know the name of Thom of Trebond!" he stalked out of the room, nearly purple with rage. That – that _whore_ had presumed to know anything about his skills in magic. He was far stronger than Roger had ever been. 

He would show that bitch. He'd show them all.

~*~

Thom threw himself into his studies, locking the door and not even allowing a maid in as he worked late into the night. He pored through all the books that had even a hint of raising the dead in them. They all said the same thing: that to defy the gods was futile. Futile? To a mage of his power, it should be a walk in the park. Just because none of the fools had ever had the balls to try it didn't mean it wasn't possible. He'd just have to write his own spell.

Thom labored night and day, hardly getting any sleep at all, but all his careful calculations came to naught. No matter what he did, it wasn't the power rating that was the problem, he had plenty of power. It was partially the fact that once a body had started to rot, it was nearly impossible to get it to stop, much less get it to unrot. But it was mostly the fact that once a body was dead, the soul had departed. Even if you managed to raise the body, it would only be a fake semblance of life, little more than a magical construct or a golem. 

Thom would have to find a body that still had a soul in it. That was impossible, of course. The Black God fetched all souls that resided in dead bodies, and brought them to the Underworld to rest in peace. Thom rubbed eyes already red and puffy from having preformed that very action numerous times. He wasn't going to get anywhere if he was too tired to think – he had to get some sleep. Yawning so widely that he felt his jaw would dislocate, he tossed the book in his lap onto his desk, stumbling into bed.

~*~

__

"Young Trebond."

Thom turned around, looking for the voice.

"Trebond."

"Who are you?" Thom demanded. "Show yourself!"

"You know very well who I am, young Trebond." The voice was smooth and sticky like honey.

Thom's hackles rose. He hadn't been called young Trebond since he was fifteen. "Why are you here? Answer me!"

"You know why I'm here."

"But you can't be here! It's physically and magically impossible!"

The man smiled. "I'm not really here, or there, either… I'm slightly in between. I thought you were educated, Thom, what a disappointment…"

"It's impossible for physical matter to be in between! Its atoms would be compressed in the time-space continuity!"

"Sorcerer's sleep, Trebond, don't you read at all…"

"What the fuck is that?" Thom demanded. He got no answer from the gray mists around him.

~*~

Thom sat straight up in bed, sweating. "Fuck." 

He put his hands up in front of his face, barely visible by the faint light of false dawn. He knew he couldn't raise someone who was truly dead. It was impossible. Even the gods could not do such a thing. 

But he could never give in to Delia! And the rest. They were so god-damned smug, they'd never let him forget it. His pride dictated that he should do it, no matter what the cost. 

Thom got up and started to look over Roger's books once more. It was less than a week until the full moon, and he would have to work quickly. He found what he was looking for, the one that had showed different forms of preservation and rest. He thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for – a section on a very complicated spell called the 'Sorcerer's Sleep." It was set up so that one would cast it on oneself, and then when you died, it would be activated. It would trap your soul inside your body where you lay, waiting until one of power came to raise you.

That was what Roger had cast on himself. Thom could raise him, though he would not be able to raise one who was truly dead. The moral question on whether or not he should do it only crossed his mind for an instant before it was discarded. He would do it, no matter what the cost.

Thom spent a couple of days resting, building up his power to full reserves. He would need all of his strength for this spell. He calculated exactly what he would need in the way of supplies, and the list was fairly simple. Chalk for diagrams, a small bowl for a ritual fire, and some piece of the deceased to burn. 

He decided to perform the spell the night of the full moon, as it was a good night for the gathering of power. Descending the cold, dank steps to the morgue of the newly dead, Thom stopped by Roger's coffin. No one was here mourning, which was no surprise. The place was completely empty.

He drew a complicated circular diagram on the stone floor straight from memory, and placed the bowl in the center. Straining a bit, he managed to pull the drawer of Roger's coffin out, then lifted the lid. The Duke lay there, arms crossed over his chest, his face void of expression. Thom drew a small knife from his belt and cut off a lock of hair, then placed it in the bowl. He lit the fire in the bowl almost without thinking about it, and started to recite the spell. 

It was long and tedious, and half of it was in a language he only faintly recognized as the tongue of the Old Ones. As he spoke he built the power in his mind, circling the diagram as he spoke. A ball of power, invisible to one who did not posses the Gift, began to ball in the center of the diagram, right above the bowl of fire. It built and built all the way to Thom's shielding on the rim of the diagram, trying to burst out. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to contain the power that built. When the power became almost unbearable, Thom opened a tiny hole in the shield. 

A thin, fierce stream of pure energy shot out of the hole in the shield, straight toward Roger's coffin. Energy continued to stream out and out, deflating Thom's ball of power until it was empty. His shield sat like a deflated balloon on the ground, until their energy, too, flowed into Roger's body. Thom slumped to his knees, drained completely dry.

Somehow he managed to stumble his way to the edge of Roger's coffin. His body was still. Thom's hopes plunged. How could it not have worked? He'd worked out every single detail. It was impossible for this spell to fail. 

Suddenly Roger's lips curved upward in a faint smile. His eyes opened, and he grinned maliciously at Thom. 

"Well done, young Trebond."

At that moment, Thom wasn't thinking about Roger at all. The fact that he had just raised a seemingly dead man never crossed his mind. All that he thought was, _Alanna's going to hate me._

_____________________________________________________________________________________ 

Wow that was long. Review!


	14. He's Baack

Disclaimer: All this stuff is the property of Tamora Pierce, not moi. So, don't sue.

I took a bit of text from Lioness Rampant, but altered it to suit my own devices. It was that scene where George comes to talk to Thom after telling Jon about Claw.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 13: He's Ba-ack!

"Fuck." Thom whispered softly. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Roger just smiled. "Profanity, young Trebond, is very rude."

Thom just glared at the Duke. "Don't. Call. Me. Young. Trebond." He gritted his teeth at every syllable, and when his words were met only with the Duke's smiling, he turned and stalked off.

"Aren't you going to explain my presence to their Majesties?"

Thom spun around. "You can damn well explain yourself." Thom dashed up the stairs, leaving his diagram and equipment on the floor.

Roger smiled at the young Adept's back. The boy was powerful, yes, maybe even more powerful than he. But his pride made him so easy to manipulate, the poor fool. 

Meanwhile, he had some catching up to do.

~*~

To put it mildly, the palace was in shock. Thom was so angry at that point that he didn't really care. He gloated for a while (he was right, gods damn it, he _could_ raise the dead) and then left Roger to his own devices.

Jonathan was completely and totally shocked. What was a man to do, upon finding the man that had nearly killed his mother back on his doorstep again? Roger, however, kept his smooth composure as always. He begged forgiveness, claiming he was now a new man. Not only that, his Gift was gone. Thom, skeptical as always, checked Roger and found that his Gift was indeed gone.

Even odder than that, Thom's magical powers were now at full strength again, even though he _should_ have been exhausted from the casting. This bothered him for a moment or two before he shrugged it off and told himself not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Roger again integrated himself into court, through wiles and sheer charm. Many were still afraid of him, and more were afraid of Thom. Thom himself didn't even bat an eye over that; he was used to the fear. 

Thom heard some rumors about Alanna's voyages down south. He couldn't sense her at all at this point – either the distance was immense or something was shielding her. He had his own suspicions over who – or what – was guarding Alanna, but magic unnerved her so that he never talked about them much with her. At least, her power _used_ to unnerve her. 

Anyway, Thom was hearing these rumors that Alanna was trying to find the _Dominion Jewel,_ of all things. The Jewel had immense power, and Thom longed to analyze it with his Gift, to see how it worked. He had no doubt Alanna could do it – if his sister couldn't, then who could? Thom had stopped underestimating Alanna years ago.

Roger continued to hang about, but he stayed away from Thom most of the time, bothering him only to help him with some books or scrolls that the Duke found. The young Adept spent his time studying the most obscure and badly translated books and scrolls in the library. 

Thom didn't sense anything was wrong until a couple days after the casting. He woke up one morning to see that the servants hadn't yet lit the candles. Sleepily, Thom waved his hand to light the candles. 

A roar of flame enveloped the candles, melting the wax down to nothing. Thom broke into a cold sweat. _What_ had just happened? There were no strong magical forces around that should interfere with spellcasting of any kind. If the problem was not outside him, then it had to be inside himself.

Nothing had ever gone wrong with Thom's Gift before. Thom sat up and bed, and pointed to the candles on the other side of the room. A wash of brown-red magic – the color of dried blood – flowed out of his hand to melt those candles as well. Thom was scared shitless now. Quickly he sank into a meditative state, examining his magic. He could see it roiling inside of him, a blood-fire that licked at the walls of his shielding. 

Quickly Thom got dressed. What was he to do? All his life he had depended on his Gift, and now his Gift was undependable. He couldn't ask anyone for help. There was no one else in Corus with the magical expertise to know what was happening. All the best mages were in the City of the Gods, and damn if he'd ever ask any of them for help. They'd just love to see him crawl back with his tail between his legs, begging for help and forgiveness. Thom curled his lips into a sneer. No, he'd never ask them for help.

So Thom did the only thing he could do. He rang for a servant to clean up the mess, and dealt with the problem himself, like he always did.

~*~

The death of the Queen, and, shortly after, the King, hardly affected Thom at all, save that he was obligated to go to a few court functions. However, he was constantly interrogated by the king and the Provost – was he _sure_ that Roger's Gift was gone? Did he see any relation at all between Roger and their Majesty's deaths? It was driving Thom mad. He just wanted to be left alone.

Thom spent his days in study, using his Gift as little as he possibly could. If anyone noticed that he was thinner and paler, then they said nothing. They believed that he was cursed by the gods, anyway, what did their opinion matter?

As time passed, Thom's condition grew worse and worse. Even the most idiotic, buffle-brained noblewomen had noticed Thom's pallor. He began to heat up and glow faintly, fire burning from inside him. He hardly ate anything and slept less that a few hours a night, sometimes not at all.

It was then that Thom had a visitor. He came into his rooms late at night to find the door ajar and George Cooper relaxing on his sofa.

"I can see we'll not be needin' any candles," George drawled. "Close the door, there's a good lad."

George's laid-back attitude only served to fuel Thom's temper. "What're _you_ doing up at this hour? Up to no good, I bet." 

"Why must you ask? Don't you see all that happens in your teacup in the mornin'?"

Thom was suspicious. "You haven't done something… Rogueish, have you?"

George just smiled. Suddenly Thom was furious. He was _sick _of this bullshit. Balling magic up in his palm, he threw it at the candles at the other side of the room. Fire flared, and the candles melted the way they had every time since he had raised Roger. The only indication that George had noticed Thom's outburst was a slight crinkling around his eyes.

"_Say_ something, why don't you!" Thom snarled. "They all do! I'm cursed by the gods, or maybe I'm such a fucking amateur that I can't even control my own power!"

George gave him a look that held pity. "Chilly in here, ain't it, maybe you should light a fire?"

Something in Thom just broke. He collapsed in a chair, shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. He would never weep in front of this man. George got up to put a hand on Thom's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"Don't!" Thom cried, but it was too late. He could almost hear sizzling as George touched Thom, then drew back as if his fingers were burnt.

"Gods." George whispered. "How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know." Thom was overcome with a wash of despair. He knew it would kill him, in the end. The gods had turned their backs. He thought he could make himself a god, and this was his punishment. George tried to get Thom to ask for help, but he'd never do it. Si-Cham, Hildagarde, all those bastards up in the City of the Gods wouldn't give a flying fuck about him.

George left. A moment later, a certain smiling gentleman came in. He asked Thom if he trusted him, Thom replied, of course not, I don't trust anybody. Except Alanna. But even Alanna couldn't get him out of this pile of shit that he'd dug himself into. It was all his own fault he was screwed like this. His own gods-be-damned fault.

~*~

Alanna's return to Corus was known all over the palace – Thom knew she was coming as soon as he could feel her presence within range again. When she didn't come to visit him, probably because she was too busy, Thom decided to visit her himself. He carefully calculated the spell so that nothing horrible would happen – normally this spell was simple, but in his present state, Thom couldn't really tell.

He visited her at night, while she was probably still asleep in her room. He shocked her out of bed with a knife in hand – that was Alanna, all right. 

They talked for a while, and Thom could see that his sister was shocked by his appearance, both physical and magical. She had reason to be shocked. The corruption of his Gift had been very hard on Thom. His hair was thin and dry, his skin so dry that it peeled. His lips were even worse, covered by scabs from where they had split and not yet healed. Thom's eyes were dimmed to a pale lavender, and he was thinner than he'd ever been in his life. Alanna was right to be scared for him. All the things that had changed about her were a few wrinkles, more maturity. Thom doubted that he had ever been mature. 

He left, telling her to get some sleep. Alanna gave him a look that said, _you need sleep a helluva lot more than I do._ She was right, as always.

~*~

Roger was disgustingly innocent of everything, through it all. Thom trusted him about as far as he could spit him, and had to constantly remind himself that it was his own fault. Alanna visited from time to time, telling him of her travels, and the goings-on at court. Since Thom had practically never left his rooms since his illness, this was all new to him.

It was soon after that that Thom recognized the presence of another powerful mage in the vicinity. He could never mistake the aura of Si-Cham, First Master in the City of the Gods. _What_ on earth had persuaded Si-Cham, who was probably eighty, to come down from the City? Thom got his answer soon enough, when Alanna came to beg him to have Si-Cham see him, to find some sort of a cure. 

Thom flew into any number of rages. Did that old coot think he couldn't handle anything by himself? He'd probably come down from the City just to gloat over Thom, saying, 'I told you, boy, that's what happens to ruffians like you.' 

But slowly Alanna wore down his resolve. More than anything, Thom was scared. He didn't want to die – he was still young, he had his whole life ahead of him. And Thom knew that's exactly what would happen if he didn't find some way to treat himself, soon. The despair finally won over the pride. He and Si-Cham spent days in research and analyzation, and finally came up with something that might work. They sealed a bit of Thom's rogue Gift into Alanna (with her permission, of course), so that they could work with Thom's magic freely. Si-Cham said nothing that was not strictly magic-related around Thom, and that was exactly the way Thom wanted to keep it.

Alanna visited him again. He amused himself by trying to get her to lose her temper – something she didn't do as much these days. A year or two ago she would have blown up at his teasing over Liam or calling Jon a prig, but now she just took it. Thom told her that if she married Thom, she'd have his blessing. Even a fool could see they were perfect for each other. Alanna just replied, in her Alanna-like way, that if she married anyone, she'd let him know. Thom actually smiled. Alanna always made him smile. 

Alanna left her brother, if not at peace, then, more in peace than he had been. 

~*~

The days counted down to Jonathan's coronation, and eventually, to Thom's possible healing. He began to have hope that maybe, he was not doomed after all. 

But if Roger was innocent of everything, then Thom would swallow the Duke's sorcerer's rod whole. Roger was just _sickeningly_ innocent of everything. It was driving Thom mad. There was no way that, after all Roger had plotted and planned to take to throne, that he was just going to give up on it now. 

Thom spied of Roger as much as he could, but his spying proved to be in vain. The Duke appeared to be as innocent as he claimed. The only hints – if they could be called hints at all – were some vague dreams. Thom often had dreams of events going on elsewhere, and so liked to pay attention to them. All the dream showed was some vague images of Alexander of Tirragen, Delia of Eldorne, Josiane of the Copper Isles, and a man Thom assumed was Claw. He relayed his suspicions to Alanna, but he told her nothing that she did not suspect already. Thom figured that the four were somehow involved with Roger's plot for some reason or another – power, wealth, notoriety. It was always the same for those half-baked villains. 

So Thom continued to go on to Jonathan's coronation, slowly gaining strength, but still not seeing the crossroads that came up ahead. 

____________________________________________________________________________________ 

A bit short. One more short chapter plus an epilogue to go.


	15. Never know how he did it

It's very short, as I warned. I stole some more text from Thom's dying scene, though it's a bit different too.

Disclaimer: Thom ain't mine, peeps, he's Tammy's, as is everything else here.

****

Thom of Trebond

Chapter 14: Never know how he did it…

It was the day of Jonathan's coronation. Thom didn't attend the formal coronation – not only did he not care, his presence tended to unnerve people, and he wasn't feeling quite well enough to go. Right off the bat, Thom knew that something was wrong. His Gift, which had been toning down for the past week, was turbulent again. He sensed the magical fields around him humming, as if expecting something.

Thom watched the king's coronation from his rooms, through one of his seeing-stones. The entire atmosphere of the throne room was tense, and Thom kept waiting for something to go off.

Finally, it did. A flare of blood-red magic flashed through the throne room, and the earth began to shake. It wasn't just in the throne room, either, Thom could feel the entire palace tremble. Given time, he knew it might encompass the entire city, even the country.

__

Roger. The thought came immediately to his mid – who else could it be? The Duke must have some kind of access to magic.

Suddenly it all came clear. Thom had been a fool. What color did purple and orange make? red-brown, the color of dried blood. The color of Thom's corrupted Gift. Roger had stored his magic in Thom, weakening the younger mage, while Roger could tap it at will. Why had Thom not seen it? He had been so focused on _curing_ his problem that he had not seen what had caused it. 

Suddenly Thom collapsed, falling off his chair. Bolts of pain shot through his insides, as if someone had opened up a hole in his stomach and was ripping his insides out. He might have screamed at that point, but he wasn't even conscious for half the time, so he couldn't tell. 

Somehow he made it to his bed, where he lay there, sweating. Roger was stealing all his magic, and his life-force along with it, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was helpless to save himself. The tremors in the palace grew worse, but Thom hardly noticed through the pain.

He must have blacked out again, because he shot awake when he felt familiar magic about to flow towards him.

"Stop!" he rasped, grabbing Alanna's wrist. "Draining – spells – don't use magic… drain you – through me."

Tears were coming to Alanna's eyes. She knew he was going to die.

"Roger – can't have all… Gift. You – have part." He smiled bitterly. "Don't let – him have it."

"Thom!"

"I… fool. But Roger – never… stronger than me."

"Who cares if your Gift's bigger?" Alanna was crying now.

Thom was struggling to hold on, now. _I don't want to die!_ "Love you… always have – always will."

He screamed at the gods, asking what had he done to deserve this. But he knew what he had done. The gods had turned their backs, and this was his punishment. _I don't want to die, I'm too young…_ He pleaded and prayed with everything he had in him, knowing that it would come to naught.

"Never know – how he did it…" He dimly felt Alanna drop his hand, from somewhere far off inside himself. He saw a cloaked black figure walked towards him, and wondered if Alanna could see it. The only time in anyone's life when they saw the Black God was at their death.

But Thom would never down willingly. He kicked and screamed, resisting the pull downward with everything he had. 

__

I don't want to go… No… Please…

____________________________________________________________________________________ 

Nice ending, that… just an epilogue, now, and that's probably going to be even shorter than this.


	16. Epilogue

And so I bring this depressing thing to an end, on a less depressing note. I wasn't about to end it like that, hey.

Disclaimer: Thommie ain't mine, Alanna ain't mine, the whole damn Tammyverse ain't mine, so don't sue.

****

Thom of Trebond

Epilogue

Thom fell, fell, fell, downwards. If this was death, he decided he hated it. 

He fell as a violet spark, all the pain was gone, now. Slowly, random pictures began to come clear. He saw Alanna, then Si-Cham, then they both disappeared and he flowed from them into King Jonathan. He stayed there for a while… he sensed violence, death. Then a period of rest. Slowly he flowed back to Alanna again.

Years passed, though in Thom's sense of time they seemed like minutes. He saw many pictures flash by, as if some over enthusiastic painter were showing Thom his works too quickly for him to get a good look at them. He saw George, and the sea. He had a moment to think, well, she married him after all. 

Thom saw many things, not all of them making chronological sense.

Then he opened his eyes, and it all went away.

____________________________________________________________________________________ 

Strange, I know. I'm sure most people won't get that, so I'll try to explain. Basically, I got _so_ pissed off at Thom dying that I said, 'dammit, I can't let that happen'. But there was no way I could _not_ have him die. I mean, it would totally mess up the plot, and sound mega cheesy to boot.

So remember that Thom said Alanna had part of his magic, and that Roger couldn't get it all? Alanna gave the power to Jonathan, then he sent it back to her. She carried it around to a few years, got married and moved in with George… and voila, reincarnation. 

I'm so pathetic, I know. But damn if I'll ever let a cool dude like Thom end like that. The gods decided Thom deserved another chance, because he'd messed up his first life so bad.


End file.
